


If My Velocity Starts to Make You Sweat

by dearmrsawyer



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fabulous Killjoys Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 27,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearmrsawyer/pseuds/dearmrsawyer
Summary: Somewhere along the way it stopped being all about taking down a mighty corporation, and instead became about fun. It became about noise and pulling the trigger as many times as he could because he didn’t know how many opportunities he had left.Niall’s still carrying this weight about saving the world, but Louis stopped trying to be a hero a long time ago. He doesn’t want to save anyone, he just wants to kick up a storm.A Danger Days/Fabulous Killjoys AU.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow it's kind of terrifying to reach the moment of posting this, after having worked on it for so long!! This idea was born four years ago and has been in the works since then. It always felt like a project that suited the skills of someone else but it was clear that no one else would write it, so here i am! 
> 
> I want to thank Bel for making time to beta as much of this as she could, even with her insane schedule. And i also want to thank everyone that's ever shown excitement for this fic or encouraged me on this journey, even when i had struggles and doubts and wasn't sure i could actually do it. I love all of you and i hope those of you who read this enjoy it. 
> 
> I have based this on both the album and the comics, but took some liberties where information was missing or it served the story. For those who are familiar with the Killjoys, i hope you recognise all the bits and pieces i used to build my fic, and for those of you who aren't, i hope its still a story you can enjoy.

**gunnin' outta this place (in a bullet's embrace)**

 

 

Louis’ first step creates a cloud of dust that leaves him coughing into the crook of his arm.

“So much for subtle,” Harry says a few feet behind him. This is swiftly followed by his own coughing fit. Niall laughs and then coughs as well.

The outpost is a small, concrete building, isolated and largely forgotten. It had taken a couple of hours to reach from the outskirts of Danger Zone 5, but it was easy to spot. It’s the only structure on the map for miles in any direction.

The outside walls are caked with dust, red speckled cement like the backdrop to a firing squad. But the frequent dust storms that roll through this sector haven’t managed to touch the inside, which looks largely undisturbed. 

“Scarves over mouths, boys,” Liam orders, voice already muffled behind his own. It’s less of an order and more of a commanding suggestion, but Louis lets him have it. He’ll argue when he can breathe.

He tugs at the blue fabric knotted around his neck until it’s draped over his nose and mouth.

The four of them still, waiting to see if their coughing has unearthed any Dracs lying in wait, but the outpost seems as deserted as they’d hoped. They move forward as a unit.

The dust is soft under Louis’ feet, carpeting the ground and lifting in clouds that get caught in his laces. Their reconnaissance made it clear the outpost is merely secondary and mostly unmanned, but Louis now suspects it was empty long before they’d begun to scope it out. It’s in the third Danger Zone, after all, far outside the usual Draculoid patrol. Nothing out here is worth monitoring.

Machine panels run the entire length of one wall, a few green and red lights blinking back at them, but mostly powered down. There are rows of computer terminals, all dark, dusty, long-since unused.

Louis runs his finger across one of the screens; it’s like wading his fingertip through a plush rug. He can’t remember the last time he felt anything so close to luscious. He almost runs a second finger through it just to recapture the sensation.

The others fan out across the room, looking around with trained eyes. Niall has a protective grip on the straps of his backpack; the wash of his jacket almost blends in with the dust-thick air. He’s the most alert, despite Liam being point man. Liam stands the tallest of them all, shoulders pushed back and ready to engage at any moment. Harry should be tallest but he’s always slightly hunched. Louis supposes that’s all down to his regularly practiced stealth.

Their steps are quiet, almost undetectable, but Louis keeps his ray gun cocked just in case.

“Who’s got the schematic?” he asks over his shoulder, voice muted by his scarf.

“Here.” There’s a rustling of paper before Louis feels a light tap on his shoulder. He grabs the plans from Harry and opens them up to gauge where they are. He should’ve studied them harder before they set out, but he’s not too worried¾all signs indicate this place is all but abandoned.

“Everyone clear on what to do? We’re in and out, no dallying, even if this place is off the radar.” There’s a chorus of agreement behind him.

Louis holds two fingers out to his right, past the computer bays. “Storeroom’s that way. Get as much as you can, not enough to cause us a problem.”

He sees Harry and Liam head to the storeroom in his peripheral, and he consults the schematic again.

“Niall, tower’s up ahe—”

“I know, Lou, I studied up.” He passes on Louis’ left, his cheeks bunched up over his scarf so Louis knows he’s grinning. Louis gives him a rough tap on the arm as he heads for a steel ladder in the far corner of the room. Louis watches him disappear through a gap in the ceiling, and tracks his movement from the creaks overhead.

That leaves Louis alone. It’s a strange place to be alone. Like a haunted house, carrying the weight of sinister souls past.

There’s not a lot of clutter compared to other control rooms he’s seen in his time. It’s mostly bare aside from the machinery, a few extra chairs corralled in the corner, and a lone shelving unit on the opposite wall.

The shelves are mostly barren. Up close he notices a few clear cylinders wrapped up in the expected Better Living Industries labels. **BL/ind™** , they read, accompanied by the familiar medicated smile that now brands their world. Wide, lifeless eyes full of obedience, black as the darkness they’re supposed to shield. Louis grimaces.

“Better Living,” he mutters. He knocks a few of the cylinders over just to make himself feel better. “What a joke.”

A few batteries of various sizes are scattered across the top shelf. There’s no indication of whether they’re of any use but he pockets them just in case. Power is a scarce commodity out here.

On one of the lower shelves is what looks to be a scrap of dirty white fabric. Louis turns it over and his heart gives a warning jolt.

It’s a Draculoid mask, clearly old but still vivid in his hands. The mouth is red and gaping, once-white teeth chewing in around the edges. Its eye holes are crooked, topped by thick, spiky eyebrows, and the top of the mask is a mat of fuzzy black hair. It’s eerie, wrong in its flaccid state—almost like it could still jump to life at any moment.

Louis has long since lost his fear of these masks, but they still haunt his dreams.

His fingers tease the edge of the fabric, slipping inside and poking out through the frayed grey film of one eye. He doesn’t know how functional this mask is, given how old it appears to be. He’s almost tempted… wonders what would happen if he slipped it over his head.

Wonders how fast everything would fade away.

A shiver runs down his spine and he retracts his hand, scrunching the face up in his palm. He doesn’t know how they do it or how the technology works. The only thing he knows is that he saw his friend disappear under one of these masks, and he never came back out again.

Louis drops the mask back onto the shelf, subconsciously wiping his hand against his thigh. He walks back to the front door, sticking his head outside for a quick scan of the area, but it all looks clear. The red desert stretches endlessly for miles, uninterrupted other than the odd yellowed shrub. He squints, focuses on the horizon. It’s clear right up to the far-off mountain peaks in the distance.

There’s a metallic clink from the storeroom, followed by hurried whispers, and Louis goes to check in on his team.

The storeroom is crammed full of shelving. There are at least a dozen aisles and over half of them are stocked with cans bearing nothing more than the same BL/ind™ label. Rows upon rows upon rows of passive smiling faces staring back at him, promising all the goodness he could imagine.

Harry and Liam are tucked into the corner, bent over something Louis can’t see, and whispering furiously. Louis leans against the doorframe, one ankle crossed over the other.

“This doesn’t seem very productive.”

They both whip around in unison.

“We found this hover that could transport more cans out to the car,” Harry explains, pushing Liam aside to reveal an old hoverboard sitting snug against the ground. Its wide body and tall console suggest it was once used for moving goods back and forth. But Louis does notice one particular problem.

“Doesn’t exactly seem to be airborne, does it?”

“And we _don’t_ have time to fix it, we need to focus on moving stock while we can.” Liam turns to give Harry what Louis can only assume to be a very pointed look. Harry doesn’t look at all swayed by Liam’s apparent show of logic.

“It can’t be that hard,” Harry shrugs. “Just give me a minute to look—”

“We’re in and out, Harry, there’s no time to give you a minute.”

“Liam, start moving goods to the car,” Louis interrupts. “Harry, you’ve got five minutes to see if you can switch that thing on, that’s it.”

Both Liam and Harry seem entitled to exchange a smug look, and Louis rolls his eyes, leaving them to it.

He doubles back and pokes his head back out the front door for a second check. There’s not always a lot to do on lookout duty. Louis likes it a little closer to the big city, where there’s more chance he’ll have to draw his ray gun. Out here there’s much less activity, and a hell of a lot less adrenaline.

He pulls the door shut and crosses the room to take hold of the steel ladder. He gingerly pulls his hands back with a grimace, wiping them on his hips, before carefully following the imprints of Niall’s hands on each rung up to the second level.

Poking his head up through the manhole, Louis can see there’s a lot more going on here. It’s a small room, built for three, maybe four, and all four walls are window from the waist up. There’s a panelled desk fitted to each wall and empty chairs with rusted wheels on every side. The one to Louis’ left holds Niall.

“Anything, Shock?”

He’s bent intently over one of the panels, eyes focused on what appears to be an antiquated amplifier. No answer. He gets like that when he’s working, becomes immune to anything that’ll distract from the task at hand. There’s a dim, dusty monitor in front of him, and a few more scattered in front of the windows. All of them seem as unused and outdated as the ones downstairs.

Louis gets to his feet and takes in the 360 view with his hands on his hips. The flat expanse of Danger Zone 3 stretches in every direction, rolling into Zone 2 and then 1 up ahead. Zones 4 and 5 sit behind him. Louis rests his palms on one of the panels, letting his eyes trace the skeletal peaks of the city high rises just beyond Zone 1. Battery City in all its cold, sanitised glory. Even the two Danger Zones between them aren’t enough to escape its reach.

There’s a hard line at the edge of the city where steel turns to dust; it’s a line Louis’ never crossed. They’ve done a lot of missions together, he and his comrades, but they’ve never been inside. They’ve gotten close, even had a mission in Danger Zone 1 once when they were feeling particularly brazen and desperately angry, but as much as Louis loves running into danger, he knows they can’t survive that. There are just too many Dracs, too many eyes, and not enough resistance.

He hears a crackle and turns back to Niall, who has his ear pressed up against one of the amp’s speakers. The static sings in and out, harsh in the barren silence. It all sounds like the same flavour of nothing to Louis’ ears but he knows Niall hears the music.

He moves to where Niall can see him, listening for any fluctuation that could mean anything. Niall’s bandana has dropped back below his chin, the green so faded you can barely recognise the tiny white stars sewed in. It’s still greener than anything out here.

Louis drops his scarf too; the air up here is still stuffy but less disturbed. He spares a thought to wonder whether Harry and Liam got the hoverboard working before—

“— _steady day in the zones, dust babies_ —”

“Wait!” Louis shouts, and Niall jumps like a bomb’s gone off. Louis has one hand out, reaching for the sound, but then the voice catches up to his ears and Niall’s nonplussed expression makes a whole lot more sense.

“Just the Doc with the status,” he says, and he’s right. Louis pulls at his sleeves and clears his throat, listening to the voice grow clipped and hazy. “Gotta keep him—” Niall starts, tongue tucked between his lips as he clicks around on the panel.

“— _two days since our last skirmish and not a tooth in sight_ —”

Niall flicks one of the heavier switches at the base of the panel and Dr. Death’s voice cuts out. Niall continues turning the dial slowly, so slowly. There are so many buttons Louis can’t identify, but Niall methodically taps one here and there to serve his purpose.

Louis gives their surroundings a cursory survey, waiting for the buzz to start back up under his skin. He watches Niall’s brow scrunch in concentration, his hand steady on the dial. His hair is bright at the tip, as bright as the enduring soft of his skin, and only the dark of his roots interrupt all that light. Niall’s never shown signs of that same buzz Louis gets when everything’s quiet, when the world settles into an unnatural ease. Niall’s quiet inside, Louis’ come to understand. He’s all thought, considered action, and only when needed. He’s never searching for an opportunity like Louis.

But Louis—he feels electricity crackle under his skin when the world around him goes still. It has him reaching for his gun as he does now, letting it whip around his finger in a practiced swing that no longer sends others running, it’s so commonplace. Louis’ never been quiet inside, only ever felt it press in from the outside. It’s suffocating—but then, not in moments like this. Not when it’s just him and Niall and Niall’s work, so steady and precise, making it feel like this is how still the world is supposed to be, and it’s the noise that’s abnormal.

Every now and then, just for a second, he makes Louis think there’s more than just the noise.

“— _quiet the mind_ —”

“Ah-ha!” Niall cheers.

A cool, feminine voice cuts clear through the static, so clear it’s like she’s in the room.

“— _strengthen the body, and remove the burden of unwanted emotions_ –”

“Got it, Shock! Good lad.” Louis claps a grinning Niall on the shoulder. Niall reaches into his pack for a small black box with wires hanging hazardously out either end.

His face changes—not obviously, but enough for Louis to recognise he’s now working with his own gear. And now, Niall moves fast. He plugs his little box into the panel and it activates instantly.

Louis knows the goal of this little side mission, but doesn’t quite understand how they’ll get there. He’s not terribly concerned; Louis is a man of outcomes, not processes. He just likes to watch Niall work.

Time slips by with Niall doing what he does best, and its merely a minute more before the robotic voice is interrupted.

“— _welcome to life, better lived_ —”

And then:

_“—speaking through the static you’ve built up in your heads. There’s lightning under those lids that the pigs can’t grip, so shake off that dust and shake out those pills ‘cause the only substance you need is the engine runnin’ under your skin—”_

“He’s done it!” Louis cheers, pumping a fist in the air. “Electric Shock taking control of the airwaves!”

Niall looks very pleased with himself when he spins to face Louis, who goes in to give his hair a good ruffle.

“No! Gerroff—”

He squirms away, chair rolling across the room in his attempt to escape. Louis gets one more good rustle in before Niall gets a firm hold of his wrist. His fingers completely encircle Louis’ wrists, pressing tight so the buckles of his jacket press into his skin. Louis tries to free himself but Niall’s fingers are too sure, his mouth’s still tipped up triumphantly.

“Those lifeless bats are gonna get their first earful of colour in two forevers,” Louis grins. 

Niall drops his grip on Louis to run a satisfied hand through his own hair. It’s gravity defying, reaching for the sun like it’s trying to sap the light; sometimes Louis jokes that between Niall’s hair and Harry’s mask, they’ll never manage another night mission without being spotted within seconds.

Louis’ hands rest on his hips as Dr. Death’s message starts fresh. “Wonder how the other two are getting on. S’pose I’ll go check.”

Niall’s usually all for ragging on the inefficiency of his teammates, but his eyes drift over Louis’ shoulder. His face drops.

“Ni—?”

He’s on his feet like lightning. “We gotta go.”

Louis follows his eyeline and there, far away across the dust and quickly approaching from the cold line of the city’s edge, is a small fleet. Louis doesn’t need them any closer to know what they are.

“Yeah, we gotta go,” he says, hurrying to the ladder as Niall jams equipment back into his pack. He grips the rails and lets the build-up of dust ease his slide to the ground floor. Niall is right behind, almost on top of him as they land back in the control room.

“Lads! We’ve got incoming!” he roars. He ducks his head into the storeroom, sees its empty, and dashes outside to see Liam and Harry offloading a couple of crates into the car.

It’s a scraped-up Cadillac, red beneath the dust and long-lost sheen. The roof was lost after a raid in Danger Zone 1; Harry likes to joke that it's just more luxury now. Liam had been less impressed, but his focus had always geared towards how it ran, not how it looked.

“Lads!” Louis shouts again.

Liam sees Louis’ face and says, “We’re outta time,” dropping his crate and jumping into the driver’s seat.

Niall’s already leapt inside, tugging insistently on Harry’s sleeve.

By the time Louis’ at the car he can hear engines in the distance, their collective rumble growing much faster than he’s comfortable with.

“Harry, leave it! We’ve got enough!” he shouts. Harry’s throwing cans willy-nilly into the car, trying to retrieve as much stock as he can from the groaning hoverboard in their quickly diminishing time.

“We’ve gotta get as much as we can!” He tosses a few cans so haphazardly that Niall yelps when one hits his shin.

“Get in the car!”

“Just a few more!”

Liam brings the engine to life, drowning out half the curses Louis and Niall are throwing Harry’s way.

It’s not loud enough to cover the sound of six accompanying engines fast-approaching. He can’t see around the building but—

“We have to go _right now_!”

Liam’s foot hits the pedal and the car screeches into motion. Harry leaps into the backseat, landing on half a dozen cans just as they speed off.

“Too close a call, mate!” Liam shouts, eyes on the open expanse of dirt ahead. There’s no road to follow but Louis can see him trying to manoeuvre over the flattest parts of the desert.

Over his shoulder, Louis sees six Draculoids swerve around the quickly-shrinking outpost, sharp on their tail. The narrow build of their bikes allows them to traverse the sandy terrain much easier than the car.

“Liam, six Dracs incoming.”

He nods, eyes darting to the rearview mirror. The engine roars and he’s no longer driving safe—just fast.

Louis, Niall and Harry’s eyes are all trained backwards, ray guns at the ready.

“Masks on, boys!” Louis says. He reaches for the mask strapped to his belt, bright red with webbing stretching out from the centre. It settles over his eyes and the edges of his vision darken. It doesn’t hinder him too much, just enough that he tends to check his peripherals a little more diligently—Liam says he should be doing that anyway, so really it’s keeping him in line.

Beside him, Liam tugs his mask on one-handed, blue with a distinct tyre track running across his left eye—courtesy of Harry. Liam had been angry at first, but after inspecting it closely had quietened down his complaints.

Louis squints, tries to aim as the car jumps unsteadily over gravel. He fires—misses. Niall fires and hits the second Drac on the left. Harry shoots once, then drops his gun, ducking down to wade through the sea of cans on the floor.

They clatter and knock at Louis’ feet. It causes him to miss his next shot too, but he keeps firing, and the buzz under his skin begins to satiate.

“Faster, Throttle,” Louis shouts over the sound of their ray guns. The Dracs fire back and he ducks down as a green streak shoots overhead.

“Faster!” Niall barks as another shot narrowly misses him. His eyes are bright inside his yellow mask, contrasted by a jagged lightning bolt down one side.

“I’m going!” Liam shouts.

“Not fast enough!” Louis shouts back.

“There’s no road here!” Liam’s bent forward now to try and avoid getting shot.

“What’re we calling you Full Throttle for if you can’t handle a little off-road?” Louis smirks.

Harry re-emerges, a rainbow washed across his face.

“Ha!” he cries, triumphant. He brandishes one of his belts, and Louis can see it’s fully loaded.

“Yes, Neon!” He fires another few shots as Harry unlatches a grenade.

Two of the Dracs are gaining faster than the rest, close enough that Louis can make out the features of their grotesque masks. They’re a few metres apart, coming up on either side of the car.

With a strong arm, Harry hurls one of the grenades towards the Drac on the left. It strikes the ground just in front of its bike. There’s an earth-rattling explosion when it detonates in a violently green plume. A few pieces of metal soar into the sky and the other Dracs swerve around it, leaving their fallen comrade.

The four of them cheer, even Liam throwing a fist into the air as he watches from the rearview. He’s not going quite as fast now and Louis suspects he wants an encore.

Harry delivers, a second Drac flying skyward with a bright pink explosion.

He raises both hands above his head, “ _Neon Junkie_!” The car bounces over a rock, jangling the four remaining bombs strapped to his belt.

“Ay, be careful with those!” Louis yells.

Harry cackles in delirious joy, and Louis can’t help grinning too.

“Got a good arm, Neon,” Niall crows.

“Hope you’ve got a few more in you,” Louis says.

There are only four Dracs left, and one is a stone’s throw from the car. Its ray gun is out, levelled quite low, and Louis can see it’s going for their wheel.

Louis takes a shot and the Drac drops its gun, skidding out to the right as red pours from its hand.

The ground suddenly levels out: Liam’s found the road. He hits the pedal just as Niall and Harry throw a pair of explosives. They bookend two of the Dracs, who disappear into blue and red dust.

“I want this one,” Liam announces, eyes on the rearview.

“You’re driving, you lunatic,” Niall says, voice lilting high in alarm as Liam raises his ray gun.

“You lot got to take out five, I’m entitled to one! Here, take the wheel.”

Louis swears, scooting over so he can grab the wheel with both hands and slide his foot onto the accelerator as Liam’s slips off.

“Keep it straight, Lou.”

“Be grateful I’m keeping us right way up,” Louis grits, glancing at the rearview. Niall and Harry are ducked down, only the tops of their heads visible. Liam takes his shot, and the last Drac slips from view. Liam roars in success before he drops back down to immediately grab the wheel.

Louis’ heart is racing and his trigger finger still itches a little. He throws one more glance over his shoulder, but the desert behind them is clear. A few lingering wisps of colour slide through the air, painting the horizon a pretty rainbow – the first Louis’ seen in years.

In the back, Harry and Niall are grinning like they’re fresh off a rollercoaster. Niall pushes his mask up; tufts of blond poke through the eye holes. As much as Niall can bring quiet to Louis’ soul, he sure does like the noise.

Louis leans back in his seat and feels the air rush over his face, fresh and free.

“Job well done, lads.”

***

It’s over an hour before a dot of a structure appears on the horizon, and by the time they roll up to it, it’s still little more than a dot.

It’s boarded up, loose scraps of aluminium covering the windows and hanging limply from the door. The walls are pastel pink, faded from the sun and covered in layers of graffiti that’s barely legible anymore. There are a few words that still stand out amongst the scrawls of black, words like _SOUL_ and _DESTROYA_ , though the words either side of them are obscured, offering no explanation. None of it means much anymore, other than the fact that someone was once here to write it. There’s been nothing new added to these walls in years.

It’s ominous in a strangely comforting way; at least Louis can depend on it to never change.

Liam shuts off the motor and the four of them hop out.

There’s a tin awning over the front door held up by a few rickety poles, and the roof looks like it’s about ready to cave in with the next dust storm. Regardless, Niall and Harry traipse inside without an ounce of concern.

“Good driving back there, Throttle.” Louis claps Liam on the shoulder, careful not to knock him into one of the rusted supports for the awning. You can never be too careful.

“Seemed to have your fair share of complaints at the time,” Liam huffs, pushing aside one of the tin slats covering the door to let Louis inside first.

“Just my way of motivating you. Knew you’d get us out of there, obviously, but it doesn’t hurt to give you a bit of a push.”

Liam grabs playfully at his side and he yelps, leaping forward to escape his grasp. It’s dark inside, but he can see Liam is grinning.

Louis’ been trusting Liam to drive them out of tight spots for years now, and he’s never once compromised their safety. Louis knows if he’s ever got his back up against the wall, there’s one man above the rest he’d hope was standing there with him.

The hall is narrow with old overlapping posters peeling off the walls. There’s graffiti similar to the scrawls outside sprayed over the top, the lettering broken up where some posters have already peeled away. Up ahead there’s a blue glow and a low hum just out of sight.

Louis steps into the main room, spotting Niall and Harry across the room on a sunken couch. The space is cluttered with junk—electronics, filing cabinets, overflowing shelves and weapons. So many weapons.

In the middle of it all is a man in a wheelchair sitting at a desk pushed up against the opposite wall. His back’s turned and he’s leant forward over a mic. His leather jacket is cracked and rumpled and the back of his seat is stripped like claws have run through it. His hair sits at least two inches above off his head, held back by a blue bandana.

“—and a reminder to all you sand mites, the only way we thrive is to stay alive. Glory is found, not sought. Keep your guns close and your eyes up, and I’ll see you back here for the evening report. This is Dr Death Defying, signing off.”

Louis leans his hip against the desk. The switch at the base of the mic is flipped, and the red light on the amp goes out.

“Nice words,” Louis muses. “A little rehearsed, though. Think you’re losing your touch, Nick?”

“That’s Dr Death when I’m on duty,” Nick says, wheeling out to face them. “We’re formal out here in the zones, aren’t we, Rogue?”

“ _Static_ Rogue, if you’re gonna be picky about it.”

“So pretentious,” Nick groans.

“Right, and Dr Death Defying is so much more modest.”

“It is, isn’t it,” Nick says, quirking the corner of his mouth. “And what can I do for you and your merry men? How was the raid?”

“Easy as the rising sun.” Louis picks at one of his fingernails.

“Well, except for the six Dracs that chased us out,” Liam adds from the doorway.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Minor detail.”

“Six? That’s a whole squad,” Nick brings one hand up to scratch at his chin. “Seems a bit much for a routine outpost check.”

“You think they knew we were there?” Liam says.

Louis straightens a little. He thinks back, retraces his steps from the moment they all stepped foot inside the outpost. With Niall, they’re normally pretty good at spotting any potential triggers. “We did scope it out first, no motion sensors or active feeds.”

Nick hums. “Still seems suspicious.”

“Well, they weren’t a problem,” Harry says, legs loosely crossed. “Not for us.” He runs a finger across his waist, where Louis knows his loaded belt is hiding.

“And the secondary mission?” Nick adds. “How’d that go?”

“A success,” Niall confirms, sitting up. “Not sure how long it’ll be live, but we got the broadcast up and running. Someone will have heard it.”

“A lot of someone’s, I reckon,” Louis grins, and Niall flushes a little under the obvious pride in his voice.

“Well, that ought to ruffle a few feathers up in Battery City,” Nick says. His mouth has a pleased tilt to it. “After the hit on their supply train last month, they’re sure to notice someone’s messing with them. Any survivors?”

“One of them only took a shot to the hand, didn’t stick around to see what happened to him,” Louis shrugs.

“That’s a little careless.”

“You think he’s gonna report back to SCARECROW?” Liam asks. His brow is deep-set like he’s already planning for a follow-up.

“It’s likely. They definitely saw you lot after the train job. Even if they hadn’t seen you before, this is a repeat appearance.”

“Good,” Louis thumps the desk. “Let ‘em see exactly who’s flipping them off after every hit.” He looks around triumphantly and there’s a matching fire in Harry’s eyes, but Niall and Liam seem a little more sombre.

“They’ll be watching now, Rogue,” Nick warns—not altogether unfriendly, but a warning nonetheless. “You’re gonna have to be more careful about how you conduct yourselves out there.”

Louis waves him off. “They’re not gonna come out into the zones.”

“They did today.”

“To check on an outpost! We were in their territory.”

“Seems like a mighty coincidence, them just happening to stop by an old outpost right when you’re on a raid. All our intel said it was abandoned, didn’t it, Shock?”

“Yeah,” Niall nods. His thumb is pressed into the dip below his lower lip, pushing it out; he looks almost childlike.

“Abandoned, and no signs of a motion sensor from what you can recall,” Nick counts off on his fingers. “Sounds an awful lot like they’re already watching.”

“Honestly, Doc, you’re kinda killing the buzz here. We just took out six—”

“Five,” Niall corrects.

“ _Five_ Dracs, and we’re stocked up on canned eats for at least a few weeks. Do you not want your cut of that?”

Nick rolls his eyes, which makes Louis feel like a child. He hates that.

Nick doesn’t follow them back out to the car. It’s a bother leaving the shack with his wheelchair; now that Louis thinks about it, he isn’t sure he’s seen Nick in the light of the sun for years. Not since he was chair-bound, at least.

Liam and Harry sort the cans, separating Nick’s cut. Louis takes a chance and leans against one of the rickety awning poles, arms crossed. He tips his face towards the sun, eyes closed, and tries to feel the satisfying cooldown after a raid, mentally setting aside everything Nick said.

He feels something at his shoulder and turns to see Niall.

His face is weighed down, like the thrill of the chase has long since worn off and left fresh worries in its wake. Liam may be the one to play guardian most often, but Niall is the one that carries the burden of forethought.

“Chin up, Shock, you took out a Drac today. You’ve earned your beans tonight.” He nudges at Niall’s shoulder in an attempt to draw his gaze. He succeeds, but Niall doesn’t offer the indulgent smile Louis can usually pull.

“The Doc’s right, you know,” he says. Behind him, Harry carries a bagful of cans back inside.

“I’d be a fool not to think the Doc was always right about something,” Louis answers, looking away first. He seems to do that more with Niall than anyone else.

“He is,” Niall presses. “And especially now. We gotta stay smart, no running raids by the edge of the city for a while. Not when it looks like they know us.”

“We want them to know us. Why do you think we gave ourselves such kickass names, _Electric Shock_?” He presses his finger into Niall’s chest. “So they can know us without _knowing_ us. The names are there to be known.”

“Knowing a name is one thing, knowing where we’re gonna be is another.”

Deep down, Louis knows Niall has a point, but the last thing he wants to do right now is sit down and strategise. Preparation negates chaos. His thumb slides along the handle of his gun, still riding off the energy of his last few shots.

“We can worry about all that later,” he flaps a hand as Harry re-emerges from the shack. Louis thumps Niall on the chest and dashes to get shotgun.

Harry grumbles a little as Louis cuts him off and slips into the front seat, but seems satisfied to sit beside Niall in the back once again. He finger-combs his own hair, grin lopsided and eyes closed. Beside him, Niall’s head still looks heavy with thought.

Louis taps his forehead twice, drawing his eyes up. “Enough of that. We can talk later, promise.” He holds Niall’s gaze to let him know he means it this time (these days, he has to prove he does). “First, we feast.”

***

Dr Death’s radio shack is a mere blip on the horizon by the time they see what they call home. It’s less of a base and more their little scrap of nothing. The roof rises up out of the desert in a solid T, flat, stretching out on either side of two supporting beams that hold it aloft. No walls, no floor, just dust and air and freedom.

There are a couple of self-serve gas pumps underneath that have long since rusted over. When they first discovered this place, driven out of Danger Zone 4 and looking for somewhere to sleep off their last ambush, this had been the only structure for miles they’d found.

Liam had wanted to keep driving, thought it too conspicuous.

“It’s a neon sign begging to be searched, this!” he’d argued. “The second they see it, they’ll be headed right here. We’re basically sleeping under an arrow.”

He’d had a lot less to argue over when they’d found there was still a little fuel left in one of the pumps—enough to start them a fire and warm their limbs. The desert is dry and nought but sun, but when the sun goes down, it can be awfully hard to keep warm.

The fuel kept them warm for quite a few winter months.

By the time it ran out, it’d become home enough that they simply stayed.

Liam pulls up in line with the roof and when Louis looks up it’s a perfect split between a darkening sky and aged, rusty tin.

“I’ve got first dibs on the cans,” Harry says.

“We’ve got at least half a dozen of everything, you dolt,” Niall says, tossing cans that land with a heavy thud against the ground. Harry starts tidying them into piles, reading the labels and organising them into groups while Liam pops the trunk.

They tend to carry almost everything they own around with them—not that they have much—just in case this place is ever compromised. The trunk is a mess of weaponry, Liam’s self-proclaimed survival stash, and some of Niall’s gear. They don’t own much more than what they’re wearing, just a few more bandanas or jackets. Harry’s got an extra pair of boots that Liam complains take up valuable space that could go towards batteries. Harry argues that batteries are so scarce, there’s no point saving the space.

Louis digs around in the pockets of his jacket until his fingers wrap around the batteries he’d swiped from the outpost earlier. They’re sizeable, at least two fingers wide, and if they’ve got enough juice in them, Louis thinks they could be put to good use.

“Liam, pass me the stereo.” He circles around to the trunk and Liam pulls out a boom box that’s definitely seen better days. The speakers are encrusted with red dust and there’s colourful lines painted across the front. Half the buttons have fallen off and the hatch of the battery terminal has long since disappeared, but it’s done them well these last few years. Louis hopes she’s got a few more in her yet.

“What’ve you got there?” Liam asks, peeking at the batteries in Louis’ hand.

Louis replaces the stereo’s batteries with two new ones and sinks his fingers into the gap where the power button should be. His finger nudges on a deep-set notch and then the speakers crackle.

“That’ll save us a trip into Danger Zone 1,” Liam nods, impressed.

It’s hit and miss out here, being so far from any other camps out in the zones, but by the time they’re settled and the fire’s been lit, Louis finds Dr Death doing his usual evening round up.

They settle in a circle around an earnestly burning fire. Harry’s on his stomach, stoking the flames to heat a can suspended above it. Their stomachs collectively grumble in anticipation of warm food.

Niall’s sat back in one of the fold-out chairs they keep stacked up against the pumps, his hands fiddling with one of his gadgets. They’d managed to grab the chairs from one of the more under-budget outposts they’d hit a while back. Louis’ tipped back in his chair, watching Niall’s hands as they work so precisely on a circuit board. Light dances across the concentrated set of his brow. Louis suspects if he spoke to him now, Niall wouldn’t even notice.

“Do you think the transmission’s still going?” Liam hums, cracking into a can. Juice spills out over his fingers but he licks it up easily.

“Mind you don’t cut your tongue on that,” Niall says, and Louis startles. Perhaps he’s paying more attention than Louis gives him credit for.

“Don’t imagine so,” Louis obliges. “They’re quicker than they used to be, not quite as unprepared for Niall’s smarts as they once were.” He grins at Niall over the flames, but he doesn’t look up from the board in his hands. Louis frowns; he’s much less permissive than usual.

“Hope we got a few good hours in there at least, after all that,” Liam says amiably. He’s pulling what look like mango pieces from his can, shovelling them into his mouth before they fall apart between his fingers.

“Probably the first thing anyone in that city has heard in years that wasn’t trying to strip them of who they were,” Harry says, plucking the cans from above the fire and handing them around. Louis slips his hand into his sleeve to accept his, mindful of being burnt. Niall finally sets his little project aside and accepts his food too.

They eat in relative silence, listening to Dr Death report anything they may’ve missed during the day. Seems it was a quiet one in the zones, overall. Louis doesn’t hear anything of much consequence as he wolfs down his beans.

“ _A few Dracs showed their fangs over in Zone 3, but it was a dry day in the desert today_.”

Louis smirks at the subtle shout out.

Nick’s wrapping up as they finish. Louis’ stomach feels more satisfied than it has in weeks.

“ _So pull at your collars and look up because the red in your veins is safe for another day. This is Dr Death Defying signing off, reminding you to take in the stars, let ‘em light you up so the exterminators don’t have to. Here’s some Mad Gear and Missile Kid to soothe you into sleep. Goodnight, tumbleweeds_.”

The speakers squeak and Nick’s voice is replaced by an erratic beat. Louis throws up a fist.

“Oh _yes_ ,” he cheers. “Turn that up, Throttle.”

Liam obliges, and the desert night swells with untamed rock. It echoes out, spreading beyond the little circle of light they share and into the black edges of night that surround them. The firelight only stretches a few metres around them and Louis looks at the line where the light stops, doesn’t dare go further.

Harry creeps towards the fire, head bopping, and the flames spark alarmingly before green swallows the orange up. The sickly light washes over Harry’s manic grin. He never can resist adding a little powder to the nearest flame—can never let a fire burn its natural colour.

Liam is air drumming and Harry, satisfied with his work, joins in, screaming along to Mad Gear at the top of his lungs. _Stretching out my style free find my own blood_ , punctuated by laughter as Liam thumps his foot to the beat.  

Louis looks to Niall; he looks engrossed in his circuits, but his foot is tapping in time. Louis grabs his chair by the arms and crab walks over until he’s at Niall’s side.

“That all means something to you, does it?” he asks, watching Niall’s fine-tipped tweezers gently pull at even finer wires.

“Everything means something.”

“Dunno how you do it, but you did good today,” Louis says, and it’s hard to see in the green but he’s sure a little more colour fills Niall’s face.

“Team effort, right? None of us could do this without each other,” Niall says.

“Of course, but it’d all be for naught without a way to hit back. You’re the only one of us with the tools to make a dent in the Better Living corp.”

“Anyone can shoot a ray gun.”

“I’m not talking about killing Dracs. You know they’re disposable to SCARECROW. I mean something that’ll really make a dent, like a rogue broadcast.”

He grins, and so does Niall, bashfully.

“There seem to be more of them lately?” Niall muses. “The last few weeks, all those sightings in Zones 1 and 2. Seems like Nick’s reporting sightings almost every day lately.”

“It’s like they generate endlessly, dunno how they get so many so fast. More resilient than roaches, and even with a lot of them killed off after the Radiation Wars.”

“They’ve got a whole city at their disposal,” Niall says. “Who knows how many citizens get turned over to SCARECROW every day.”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, leaning his head back over his chair until he feels the muscles loosen.

“Sometimes I think…”

Louis looks back at Niall, and his hands are still now. Louis waits, knows sometimes Niall needs a moment to put his words together.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know,” Niall shakes his head. “Sometimes it just feels like they’re too big, y’know? There’s too much to take down, and can we really make a difference? Like, a little broadcast from the zones isn’t gonna start an inner-city riot. It might get heard by a few but by nightfall they’ll have taken enough pills to numb anything it made them feel.”

Louis’ a little taken aback; Niall’s not one for existential dread. It seems like a well-structured thought, one that’s been sitting in his head for a while, perhaps even through their last few raids.

Niall eventually sighs; his chest deflates and he sinks further back into his chair.

“I want it to mean something.” His eyes are low, focused on his hands, back at work. “I just dunno if it… if we can.”

 _That’s quitter talk_ , Louis wants to say. He wants to joke and nudge Niall out of it because he’s not really sure how to ease those sort of worries—ones that exist beyond their little wayward band. Truth is, he’d had them too, long ago, when all this started. When they first found each other and decided to raise hell.

Somewhere along the way it stopped being all about taking down a mighty corporation, and instead became about fun. It became about noise and pulling the trigger as many times as he could because he didn’t know how many opportunities he had left.

Niall’s still carrying this weight about saving the world, but Louis stopped trying to be a hero a long time ago. He doesn’t want to save anyone, he just wants to kick up a storm.

The fire has picked up Harry’s spark properly now; from the outside they must look like an enchanted bubble of green suspended in the dark. The sand is almost white where the green overlaps the red, and their skin looks extra-terrestrial, glowing with unearthly life. Niall’s hair catches the light as well, so much brighter with both his skin and blond tips tinged emerald.

Before Louis has time to joke his way out of the moment, Niall speaks.

“Nick was right, you know.” Niall finally looks at Louis dead on. “We gotta be more careful. BL/ind has a lot of eyes, even out here in the zones.”

Louis shifts. He’s got another joke on the tip of his tongue but the weight in Niall’s eyes keeps it inside. The high from earlier today has long since settled the static under his skin, and he’d hoped to drift off tonight feeling sated. But everyone around him seems dedicated to disrupting his sense of triumph and ease.

“Can’t we just enjoy a raid well-done, Shock? Leave the worries for another day,” he tries, hoping that’ll at least offer him an escape for the moment.

“Might not be another day if we don’t worry soon enough,” Niall says. The smile’s dropped off his face and he looks at Louis intently. He’s good at eye contact. Louis’ terrible, can’t get through a sentence without his eyes darting across the perimeter of his vision. Niall, though, he’s got the steadiest gaze of anyone Louis’ ever known. It has the power to be either remarkably centring or deeply unsettling, depending on the situation.

Now, it makes Louis feel reprimanded, makes him want to look away.

The fire’s starting to die, and Harry’s trick has been almost entirely eaten up as the remaining flames shift back into warmth.

The radio’s been turned down and Louis notices a few yawns around the circle. Harry, done with his solo rendition of a full band, shuffles over to one of the gas pumps. He washes his hand across the ground, dusting sand away to unearth a peeling leather suitcase. It’s buried so the flap is level with the ground, hidden from unsuspecting eyes.

He pulls out a couple of blankets, certainly not the sinister stash Louis had hoped they’d plant, and hands them out. Louis lies down on one half, pulling the other up and over himself, rolling his jacket up as a lumpy, makeshift pillow.

Around him, the others settle in as well. Liam’s facing out, always on alert even in sleep. Harry shuffles closer to the fire, willing to risk a burn for the warmth.

Louis remains exactly where he is, watches as Niall clings to the night a little longer, bent over his gadget with hard eyes. Even in the dying light he keeps at it. Louis’ eyes begin to slip closed, and the last thing he sees is the flicker of light over Niall’s face.

***

Louis knocks back another drink; his body is still buzzing with restless energy. There’s activity on all sides, but not the kind he needs. He isn’t sure when the switch happened. When this, a gathering to celebrate the impossibility that everyone here is still breathing, became insufficient in sating the hum under his skin.

He could blame the zones, he supposes. Or if not the zones, the city.

“Good night,” says a low voice against Louis’ ear. He startles slightly, but tries to keep it off his face as he turns to see a familiar yellow-and-black striped mask. Plush lips stretch wide behind a glass.

“Good as any, these days,” Louis agrees, lifting his own glass in answer.

“Come on, Rogue. Not every night we’re free to gather and drink, dance and be merry.”

“True enough. Been a while, Bleta.”

Dark eyes roll within the mask. “I’ve given myself more names than my parents did and you can’t use any of them?”

Louis grins. “They all mean the same thing, don’t they?”

Bebe shifts the mask up off her face, mussing her hair, which she elegantly combs back into place with her fingers.

“Good to see you haven’t been dusted since I last saw you,” Bebe tips her drink towards him.

“Not gonna lie, come close a few times.”

“Haven’t we all,” she laughs.

The room around them is full of life and noise. There are so many people they’re pressed in against the walls. It’s always like this with pop ups. A randomly selected, abandoned location in the zones—one of the few still standing—picked as a last minute one-night-only hot spot to minimise the chance of an ambush. Within hours its packed full of liquor and laughter, running until just before dawn when all disperses back into dust.

Tonight, it’s an old motel where the walls between rooms have been bombed out, creating one long hall. The gyprock is cracked and some of the support beams are exposed. Outside there’s a landmark sign that reads “CONDEMNED: BL/IND” hammered meticulously parallel to the ground.

It’s a fast-forward joy where people soak up as much of the moment as they can before they scatter back across the zones, into the hovels and holes and burrows where they pass their days in between.

People are used to living fast out here. When there’s time to live it’s short, and they’re good at making sure the seconds count.

“Your crew still together?” Bebe asks, swivelling around to face Louis.

“Yeah, yeah. Still going strong,” Louis nods.

“Still causing trouble,” she winks.

“You know it.” He clinks his glass against Bebe’s and takes another sip.

“Someone’s gotta make life harder for those heartless scum.”

“Oh, I am doing my best.”

Bebe ruffles his hair with a pleased, “Atta boy,” sculls the rest of her drink, and swaggers off at the sound of a new song.

Louis doesn’t fancy standing alone at the bar, so he gets himself a refill and pushes off into the crowd. There are a lot of people he knows and a lot he doesn’t, but he doesn’t linger in any circles too long, keen to find his own. Three drinks in and the buzz under his skin is shifting into a need for something familiar.

He fights his way across the room before he reaches a cluster of ripped, moth-eaten couches that hold a small group of people, among them his three comrades in arms.

Liam is deeply reclined, a quickly-emptying pitcher in one hand and laugh lines so deep it’s hard to believe his face ever changes. Niall sits on the opposite end, holding himself more tightly but still grinning, chin in his palm. Harry’s in an armchair, one leg folded beneath himself and twirling a curl around his finger.

“The final piece of the puzzle!”

Louis grins as Perrie raises both arms, sat on the couch across from Niall and Liam.

He stands directly in front of Liam as he greets her. “Didn’t realise I was expected.”

“Please, we know you lot travel in a pack,” she says. “Can’t find any one of you without the rest.”

“Something wrong with that?” Louis argues as Liam tries to push him out the way, eventually pulling him down onto the couch beside him.

“Not at all. Increases your odds of survival, doesn’t it? Got myself a good gang of girls now, too.” Perrie indicates the girl beside her on the couch and the two hanging over the back.

It takes a moment for all the introductions to be made, especially with Harry determined to commit them all to memory, but eventually Jade, Jesy and Leigh-Anne all have a name to their faces.

They drink and trade war stories and Jade leads an eager few to dance when DJ Cherri Cola takes control of the air waves. Louis eventually finds himself beside Leigh-Anne, whose revolving door of refreshments is more admirable than anything else.

At one point she hands Louis her glass so she can unzip her boots, which stretch to her thigh. They’re black, matte with dust, and it takes some tugging to get them loose.

“Don’t get many chances to kick back without these, running all over the zones,” she grins, lightly kicking her now-bare legs. “Ahh, fresh air.”

“So you just hooked up with Perrie and the girls recently, then?” He hands her drink back, which she half-downs.

“Mhm, only a month ago I’d say? Feels solid, though.” She rests her hand against the mass of tight curls framing her face, eyes narrowed pleasantly. “I’d die for those girls, and they’d die for me.”

“Good to have a crew out here.”

“The same with your boys, I’d imagine?”

Louis gives them a cursory glance, all three engaged in the merriment and smiling widely without their masks.

“Yeah. Best way to survive.”

“Only way,” Leigh Anne says, and some of the mirth slips from her eyes. She leans her head a little more heavily into her hand. Louis reads the way the drink in her hand suddenly becomes less celebratory, more consolatory.

“Wish I’d found them a few months sooner. Makes you wonder if they could’ve stopped…” But she doesn’t finish.

He pats at her knee, recognising the loss written clear as day across her face. She meets his eyes, and there’s a communion between them, something Louis’ felt with others from the zones, recognition of a shared but separate history.

The noise in the pop up becomes strangely insular, like they’ve slipped inside a bubble, protecting the fragility of their sorrow from all the clamour.

“Yours, was it family?” Leigh Anne asks.

Louis shakes his head. That had gone a long time ago too, but not in the way she means. He hadn’t had to endure their faces slipping behind barbaric masks, and he felt guiltily grateful for it. “Nah, just a mate… real close mate. You?”

“Sister,” she confesses. “Took a while to accept it. You hear things, you know? That make you think maybe there’s a way back from it.”

Louis doesn’t know what things she’s heard—definitely hasn’t heard anything himself. He just shakes his head. “No way back from that. No Phoenix Witch come to collect on your soul, you’re just… lost.”

There’s a shallow glimmer along the thin line of Leigh Anne’s eyes, but she squeezes it back when she downs the rest of her drink, and then sits up.

“Well, our souls aren’t lost or collected yet so we shouldn’t act like it.” A violent thumping beat brings them back out of their bubble, shattering their inner sanctum. “Come on, help me get these boots back on. I love this song!”

It’s exactly the night Louis needs, in the end, surrounded by survivors who want to make as much noise as possible to prove that they’re still here, still shouting, still shooting. They fill the night with light and noise, on and on through the darkest hours until they hear the fateful call of the barman,  _sun’s up, time’s up._

Its in the grey light of the new sun that they begin to dissipate, sounds splintering as everyone spreads back across the zones, and this condemned little motel becomes just another relic of a night to forget once more.

Only when the crowd has begun to thin does Louis spot another familiar mask perched atop a non-descript head of brown hair. Niall, Liam and Harry are halfway into the Cadillac but Louis makes his way over to Brendan.

He’s young, and he looks it, which is hard in the zones. Even the most youthful have a way of carrying an age greater than their own out here. But Brendan’s face is untouched by all but dust and a sadness Louis hasn’t seen in him before.

“Alright, lad?”

Brendan spins like he didn’t realise that was anyone else still around, his hands clasped tight to his chest.

“Louis, hey.”

“What’s that you got?”

Brendan’s mouth twists, and his fingers loosen to reveal a mask: all black with one bright spot by the left eye, hazy at the edges like a distant star.

Louis’ heart dips. “Velvet?”

“Yeah, dusted out on the edge of Zone 2.”

He’d seen Velvet Night here and there in his time, mostly at pop ups, but they’d never ridden together. He thinks Liam may have mentioned knowing him though, and hopes this won’t put him down too much.

“When?”

“Yesterday.” He runs a thumb across his nose. “Didn’t get there in time. He… he took a bunch of Dracs down with him though, guess that’s why they didn’t bother trying to nab him.”

“Most we can hope for,” Louis nods, some small relief they hadn’t lost another behind a mask.

“Yeah.” Brendan sniffs, head turned down so Louis can’t see. “Wanted to give him one more night of noise, then I’ll hand him over to the Witch.”

Louis swallows, resting a hand on his shoulder. Against his better judgement, he says, “C’mon, we’ll give you a ride.”

***

The heat is kicking back in as the day reaches its full form. Louis sits shotgun as per usual, and Brendan is tucked between Niall and Harry in the back. Other than the roaring engine it’s quiet—numbingly so, after a night of noise—but Louis can see Brendan’s heavy head and the way Niall keeps solemnly glancing at the mask in Brendan’s hands, and thinks perhaps he should allow the moment to sit.

In the rearview mirror is Battery City, shrinking to nothing more than spires as they soar in the opposite direction.

Ahead, deep in Zone 5, is the one sacred place left in Louis’ known world. He’s never been much for faith, but hope is hard to kill, even out here.

And out here, far enough that it’ll never be found by BL/ind, is where they come to uphold that hope: the Mailbox Shrine.

It appears as a speck in the distance, closer and closer until its reflects the sun now high in the sky. Brightly painted under a layer of dust, it sits in wait of those who come to find their peace.

Brendan sits noticeably straighter when it comes into view. His fingers tighten on the mask in his hands.

There’s been new graffiti scrawled across the mailbox since Louis was last here, but the footprints of its last visitors have been washed away by the desert winds.

Louis has been here only twice before in his life. Once when he was younger, and Nick had hoped it would bring him comfort. He’d scowled at a fairytale so clearly fabricated to bring comfort to people weak enough to need it. And then again only once more, a couple of years ago. Alone, in the middle of the night, and like Brendan clutching a mask between grieving fingers. He’d felt the fool for placing his own hope in such superstition, even more so when he’d pressed it through the mailbox slot. He knew those who believed in the Witch thought anyone who became a Drac were lost. And he didn’t believe in her, he didn’t, but for just one night he’d considered the possibility that she was out there, and somehow, perhaps, she could find a way to collect just one.

Niall had been the only one awake when Louis returned and Toxic Velocity’s mask was nowhere to be seen. Understanding had been written clear across his face, but he’d let Louis bury himself beneath a blanket in silence.

He spares a glance for Louis now as they stand shoulder-to-shoulder by the Cadillac. Louis doesn’t return it. He’s spent many nights since then furious at himself, and only his pride has kept him from returning to the mailbox to pull Velocity’s mask back out. That need to show the world that there was nothing behind it, that all the masks that had ever been left were still there, that no souls had been saved. But he told himself not to deny others the hope he refused.

He feels that way today, trying to offer support without credence. But Brendan appears lost, gazing down at the mask in his hands like he’s not sure what to do with it. He winds the string around his fingers, tight enough that they blush with the loss of circulation.

Liam steps forward to rest a kind hand on his shoulder; that seems to wake Brendan. Liam nudges him forward, and they approach the mailbox together. Louis wonders if perhaps he underestimated how well Liam knew Black Velvet. He knows Liam has never committed to a position on the Phoenix Witch, but as he guides Brendan forward he upholds the reverence of this place as if his heart were sure.

Harry stands sombrely by the car on Niall’s other side. He’s always been a believer; he and Louis have fought about it many times over the years. It’s clear on Brendan’s face that he believes just as much as Harry. Or at least today he does.

Louis wonders whether Velocity’s mask is still there, within reach. Whether it would be better to retrieve it once and for all, whether it would’ve been easier to heal from the loss by saving it as a token, rather than giving it over to a deity no one’s ever seen. Or maybe it’s gone, collected by someone else to fool people that their loved ones have been delivered to an afterlife of peace. Louis’ finger itches to see for himself, but he holds back—for Brendan’s sake. That’s what he tells himself.

Liam lifts the lid of the shrine and allows Brendan pause before he eases the mask inside. There’s no sense of completion or finality to it. The mask is there and then it’s gone, and nothing has changed except the tension in Brendan’s fist. 

“Be still now,” Liam says, when Brendan seems unable to speak the traditional adage. “Let the Witch guide you. You are free.”

“Don’t ever put my mask in there,” Louis says, low enough for only Niall to hear. Louis feels the brush of his sleeve as he inches closer, away from Harry.

Like Liam, he’s never taken much of a position on the Phoenix Witch. The two of them would often just back away anytime Louis and Harry went at it. But Louis can see in his periphery that Niall seems conflicted about this request.

“Think I’d rather, if its all the same to you,” he murmurs, eyes sitting somewhere at his feet.

“It’s not. I don’t want you lot wasting your time with it.”

Niall leans back against the car. “Is that really what you want?”

Louis frowns. Normally, Niall is the first to go along with anything Louis asks, even if it’s arguably reckless. His footsteps seem further and further behind Louis’ lately.

“Don’t see why it would matter? Harry’s the only one that buys into it.”

“It’s not about buying into anything, it’s about processing and closure.” Then, softer, “I know you get that.”

It’s the first time Niall’s acknowledged that he knows what Louis did that night, and Louis’ cheeks burn.

“Besides,” Niall goes on, “wouldn’t be a waste, not for me. Just… to be safe, in case you’re wrong.”

Something thick makes a home at the back of Louis’ throat, stretching across his windpipe. He runs his finger along the grip of his ray gun and looks past Brendan and Liam, still stood by the shrine, to the horizon. It’s a hard line between blue and red now that the sun’s properly up. His lifts his eyes, looks directly into the sun.

When a little too much time has passed to carry on with the same thread of conversation, he says, “I’m not.”

“What?”  
  
“I’m not wrong.”

Niall just huffs and pushes off the car, which springs lightly under his weight, leaving Louis alone.

Eventually Liam and Brendan make their way back. Brendan’s head is bowed, fingers rubbing at the hem of his jacket, not yet used to being empty. Louis remembers the feeling.

***

Louis grits his teeth, body vibrating as Harry plays the drums against the back of his seat.

“Would you cut it out?”

Harry limits himself to the off beats, and Louis’ shoulders slowly square.

“ _Stop!_ ” He swings his arm around and swipes at Harry, who flattens himself back against the backseat, laughing. He’s carries on drumming as Louis tries to get in a good hit.

He notices Niall watching with an odd twist to his mouth, and it makes Louis’ heart do a twist of its own.

“A little help?” he says, in lieu of dwelling on that.

“I think you’ve got it covered,” Niall smiles.

“No sense of loyalty, the lot of you,” Louis scowls, turning back to face forward. He doesn’t miss the way Niall’s still watching him though, and when he rests his cheek in the palm of his hand, it’s warm.

They’d dropped Brendan off at the border between Zones 4 and 5; he said his crew were set up nearby. Louis wonders if they should’ve kept an eye on him a little longer, but perhaps he’s just going soft. Rebels are bred from the harsh life of the zones. Brendan needs the chance to heal and harden; if he’s coddled now, he’ll never be strong enough to break out of his cocoon later.

As the endless desert flies past, Dr Death’s voice overcuts the last few bars of the song on the radio.

_“That’s Hyper Thrust pumping through the amps, and we got a hot tip for all you zoners out there. Word is there’s a skirmish out at the Spires, caught a nasty Drac infestation. But good news! Danger Zone 3 is looking particularly dashing today, so why not motor on over and keep your throats clear. This is Dr Death, and here is the traffic.”_

Louis glances at Liam, who’s lips are curved with adventure. Liam’s always had a balanced measure of caution and mischief in his eyes. It’s one of the reasons Louis trusts him with his life. But right now, he can see which way the scale is tipping, and he likes it.

“Anyone up for a little chaos?” he asks with a crooked grin.

***

It takes a couple more hours to skip over Zones 3 and 4, but the topography distorts this far north and the zones stretch thin, so there’s less ground to cover.

“Is this really a good idea, driving into a confirmed Drac attack?”

Louis hangs his arm over the seat to look back at Niall, whose face is set in a frown.

“You heard Dr Death, there’s a skirmish, which means they’re already engaged. We ought to help.”

“Yeah, but we’re not just rolling in to help, are we?” Niall’s eyes make Louis recoil just a little. He can tell when he’s being read.

“‘Course we are.”

“And the thrill’s got nothing to do with it?”

“We all love the thrill. Harry’s already got his grenades ready, look at him.”

Harry juggles a grenade one-handed, which is a dubious move worth warning against. Louis’ too focused on the way Niall’s eyes still bear a touch of disapproval that rubs the wrong way.

“But Nick said there were a lot of Dracs this time. Aren’t we better off waiting till they’re in smaller numbers?”

“Sounds like you’ve lost your spark, Shock. Need to pump a little electricity back into those veins!”

Niall inhales like he’s ready to shoot back but they’re cut off by a rocky rise up ahead.

The zones are, largely, little more than scrub. There’s the occasional dilapidated structure, a BL/ind outpost or bunker that was once a safehouse but is now best avoided for fear of being monitored. The Spires are one of the only breaks in endless earth. They stretch across a good portion of Danger Zone 2, jagged shards that rise up out of the sand. The stone is streaked sandy orange, the colours of a sunset, pointing to the sky and falling off into little cliff edges. They’re rough and imprecise and completely natural.

They’re beautiful—one of the few beautiful things left in the world.

Everyone slips on their masks as Liam parks in the shadow of the nearest peak. Louis jumps out of the car, idly stroking his ray gun. “Not much of a skirmish.”

The others look around as well, kicking up dust in the otherwise still zone. Liam and Harry circle one of the rocks; Louis cocks his gun just in case. Niall stays nearby, hand shading his eyes.

Liam tips his head comically back around one of the rocks. “Think Dr Death got it wrong?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Louis says.

“He’s never been wrong before,” Niall adds.

Louis’ eyes dart from side to side in case of any surprise attacks. He walks a good few yards before he’s completely enclosed in the Spires. Neither their car, not anything else, remains within sight.

Restless disappointment tingles under his skin. A few Dracs had sounded like exactly what he needs, the Doc’s transmission the closest he could expect to a cure-all.

The let-down of a report gone wrong is worse than being given no hope of a fight at all. His shoulders sag and his gun flops uselessly against his thigh. He’d spent the whole drive psyching himself up; it’s going to take all night for him to shake it off now.

Just as he’s about to signal the other boys, finger pressed to his lips, Louis hears the distinct sound of a ray gun going off.

It’s Harry’s. He can always tell them apart.

 “Harry?” Niall’s voice echoes between the rocks.

Louis can’t tell which direction any of them are in. The sounds bounce around in this place.

“Niall!” he shouts.

“Niall!” This time it’s Liam, and Louis looks back, sure it came from behind.

“Liam!” Niall answers, and Louis turns on the spot, jaw locked in frustration. Harry’s ray gun fires again, and this time Louis starts running. He doesn’t know if it’s the right way, but he needs to move.

He can hear more shooting, a few guns he recognises and a few he doesn’t. He cuts between the rocks as fast as he can, trying to get somewhere, anywhere.

“Hey!” he calls out senselessly, hoping someone will answer and direct him. But then the shouting starts to echo in such a way that he thinks he can follow it. As he runs it gets louder, more distinct. He can hear Liam swearing, Harry crying in triumph—the way he does when he hits a mark.

There’s a loud bang and the ground shakes under Louis’ feet. He stumbles, ducking down on instinct. Ripples of sound bounce between the rocks, but to his left he sees a violet plume of smoke waft into the sky. Got them.

Louis dashes in between two close-cut spires, his feet skidding in the dust. He drops to the other side, reaching for his gun.

He takes in the scene. They’re in a cradle, spires sloping up on every side until the rocks break in jagged peaks. There are Dracs  _everywhere_. A dozen at least—two squads, double what they’ve ever faced. Two of them lie dead at the base of the smoke. There are Dracs at the top of a few peaks, ray guns aimed at the ground. Louis’ eyes follow one of them and land on Liam, who’s busy holding another Drac down. Louis whips out his gun and closes one eye, firing a shot that sends the first Drac tumbling to the ground with an ugly thud.

That’s enough for everyone to realise he’s arrived.

“About time!” Niall shouts. He’s crouched behind a rock his own size, popping out every few seconds to fire a shot.

Harry’s got three Dracs coming up on him and a grenade ready in each hand.

Two more break away from pursuing Niall when they spot Louis. One of them fires at him just as he disappears back through the gap he’d just entered. The shot catches the edge of a rock, sending pebbles over his shoes.

Another earth-shattering boom, and Louis peeks around to see a green pillar of smoke this time, and another two Dracs lying still.

Louis misses his shot and ducks back. They’re still two to one—not the best odds, but now they’re back in familiar territory.

He fires another two shots, gets one hit, and darts forward to help Liam, who’s got a few Dracs fighting him in close range. He weaves around a fist aimed at his nose and slams his gun into its temple.

Louis shoots another one in the arm and another in the stomach, and pushes Liam down behind a large stone so they’re just out of view.

“Thanks,” Liam groans. Louis sees red blooming against Liam’s leg.

“Li, oh sh—”

“It’s okay, just need to tie it,” Liam breathes, ripping out his belt and buckling it around his upper thigh. There’s a tremor to his hands and a decent amount of spilt blood already.

They can still hear a lot of fire, so Louis throws a few into the mix to make sure their side isn’t lacking. He spots Niall still crouched in place, and Harry seems to have found a crevice to duck into as well.

“Can you see ‘em all?” Liam asks, hissing as he tightens the belt.

“Yeah, both okay.”

“I mean the Dracs.”

“Oh, uh—” He counts them. “Two up high, three on the ground. Wait, four. That one’s still moving.”

Tongue between his teeth, Louis takes aim at one of the Dracs Harry’s grenades failed to kill. He’s got a head shot lined up when suddenly blinding pain sears through his head. He buckles, clutching his head to block out the piercing sound. It cuts through every nerve between his ears. He feels Liam rock heavily into him but can’t look—can barely see through the white lines in his vision.

As quickly as it hit, it’s gone.

Louis feels woozy, his head lolling to one side. Bit by bit, his vision grows clearer, and when he drops his hands, they’re spotted with blood. His eyes roll towards Liam, who blinks back unevenly. He’s got blood tricking from his ears.

The world comes steadily back into focus, but it takes a moment for Louis to remember there’s anything outside the numb sensation in his head. He looks over the stone they’re tucked behind; the remaining Dracs are gathered in the centre of the rocky cradle.

There’s a body crumpled between them. Louis doesn’t see it right away, but the second he recognises the mask pressed into the sand lightning shoots through his veins.

He tries to shout, but his tongue is too heavy. He cries wordlessly; his fingers itch to get a grip but they’re useless. They clutch loosely at the stone and his chin scrapes heavily when he tries to lift his head.

He can’t move. Can’t do anything but watch as the remaining squad of Dracs circle around Niall, and two of them haul him up under his arms.

Niall mouth twists in a groan, and Louis puffs with some small relief. He’s alive.

This relief lasts only a second before the mask is ripped from Niall’s face. One of the Dracs produces a mask of its own, and, before Louis can scream, tugs it down over Niall’s head.


	2. Part 2

**save yourself (i'll hold them back)**

 

 

“Get up. Louis, can you get up?”

Liam’s voice is shaking.

So are Louis’ hands.

His head hasn’t completely cleared from the blinding pain of moments ago, but Louis has all but forgotten how that felt, can only think about how it felt to watch another one of his friends disappear behind a mask.

The Spires are clear now, nothing but Louis, Liam, a hidden Harry and a few dead Dracs littering the ground. The ones that survived are gone. Niall is gone as well. He’d walked himself away with them.

“Louis, you need to—we have to find Harry.”

Liam squeezes his arm and Louis finally looks at him. Liam’s pulled off his mask, showing his heavyset brow. His lips are pressed together tightly like they always are when he’s trying to be practical—when he’s trying not to feel everything Louis knows he’s feeling.

Liam’s other hand is grips belt pulled tight around his own thigh. Louis clumsily pulls his own mask down around his neck.

“Can you… can you stand?” he asks. His voice is hoarse. Liam nods.

“Yeah, think so. Just—if you can spare a hand, I’d appreciate it.”

His head is still unsteady on his shoulders, and it takes a moment to feel okay upright, but when he’s on his feet he reaches for Liam.

Liam groans, pulling himself up with Louis’ help. He hops a few times to regain his balance, and Louis leads them out with an arm around his waist.

Across the cradle, Louis can see where Harry’s sticking out from the crevice he’d hidden inside during the fight. He comes fully into view as they move closer. He’s sat upright, head limp and mask askew.

“Is he—?” Louis breathes.

Liam drops to his knees with a grunt, resting a hand at the pulse point on Harry’s neck. Louis’ eyes run over Harry’s body: he doesn’t look to be bleeding, other than a few grazes against his knuckles. There are still three grenades attached to his belt, pinned and safe.

“Harry?” Liam says, lightly shaking his shoulder.

Harry’s face twists, and he moans low under his breath.

“Neon, Harry, hey.” Liam catches Harry’s head as it tips forward.

“You alright?” Louis asks. Harry clutches at his own head and opens his eyes, slitted against the bright sun.

“What was that?” he says, blinking unevenly. “That… I dunno, it was a noise? Hurt…”

“Some kind of tech,” Liam says. “All I heard was a high-pitched sound and then my head was pounding. Could barely see.”

“My head…” Harry massages at his forehead. “Where’s Niall?”

Louis swallows. He replays it over and over in his head—the moment of confusion that flickered across his face before it disappeared, the shudder that had run through his body as he struggled for barely a second. Three Dracs held him tight until his whole body went lax.

The hands holding him had fallen away and he’d stood calmly in their presence.

They hadn’t spoken—Louis doesn’t even know if they  _can_ , but it seemed they didn’t need to. They’d moved into formation, two by two with Niall bringing up the rear, and left. He’d just left.

“Niall—where is he?” Harry asks again, eyes darting between them.

Louis’ throat is thick; he can’t put the words together.

“He…” Liam starts, but even he doesn’t seem like he can get it out.

Harry’s lip trembles and his eyes hesitantly scan the cradle, like he isn’t sure what he wants to see.

“Did he...?”

“He’s gone,” Liam swallows.

Harry gasps.

“Dusted?”

“No…”

“Under the mask,” Louis says, and Harry pales.

“They—”

“Yeah.”

Louis drops his eyes. Someone sniffles, it might even be him, and Harry draws his knees up to his chest. They all hold themselves very still, very quiet.

“Oh god,” Harry whispers. His breathing gets heavy, heavier, and then he roars.

It explodes out of him so suddenly that Louis jumps. Harry bolts to his feet, slamming both fists into the spire towering over them. Liam makes to grab for him but hisses, grabbing at his own thigh. That catches Harry’s attention.

“Liam—great Destroya.” Harry drops back to his knees, and all the fight instantly rushes back out of him. He sniffles. “Your leg—we’ve gotta—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not. It needs patching.”

“I can manage,” Liam says, even as Harry hauls him to his feet.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Harry cuts, his words sharp. “We’ve already…” His breath stutters wetly. “Not you as well. C’mon, Lou.”

Louis, still on his knees, is prompted by Harry’s hand on his shoulder.

The three of them stagger out of the Spires, silent but for Liam’s occasional grunt of pain as Harry does he best to support him.

The car is just as they left it, apparently untouched and unimportant in the ambush.

Louis sits gratefully alone up front, with Harry helping Liam into the back. His pallor is worryingly grey after the brief walk to the car, so Louis hits the gas. Harry glances at him in the rearview, but Louis keeps his eyes firmly ahead.

***

They make a racket letting themselves into Dr Death’s shack unannounced. By the time they reach the living space he’s sitting in the middle of the room with a shotgun raised at eye level.

He lowers it with a roll of his eyes as they come stumbling in like some four-legged beast with no sense of coordination, ushering them to get Liam to the couch.

Harry sits beside Liam but Louis stands against the opposite wall. Nick rolls forward with a dusty blue box on his lap.

“Where’s Shock?” he asks, inspecting the belt strapped tight around Liam’s leg.

The room is silent. Louis feels sick, can’t stop seeing it.

“Dracs,” Harry finally answers in a low voice.

Nick pauses, and his eyes stray to Louis, who won’t look back, before he swears under his breath.

He pulls out a remarkably clean reel of bandages and a small blue tube with a spray nozzle on the end.

“Get ready to press,” Nick instructs, and Harry poises over Liam’s leg, instantly applying pressure when the belt is undone. Liam hisses but keeps completely still as Nick cuts open the leg of his pants.

Louis can see where the ray gun got him. Not a clean shot but much more than a graze. Louis rubs absently at his arm—the memory of ray burn from years past.

Nick wipes the area as much as he can and sprays thick foam across the inflamed wound. It instantly soaks into the gash, sealing it. Nick gives it a moment, presses to make sure it’s firmed up, and then unravels the bandage.

“Where were you?” Nick asks as he wraps the wound.

“The Spires,” Liam says.

Nick pauses.

“My broadcast?”

Liam nods and Nick swears again.

“That was a warning, not a tip.”

“We wanted to—” Harry begins.                                                                                                                  

“That’s how it always starts,” Nick interrupts. “Take out a few Dracs, think you can knock Better Living down a peg. Rushing in with too much bravado.”

“You’re one to talk,” Louis spits.

“You’re the one who should be listening,” Nick bites back.

Harry’s eyes are weepy. Liam’s biting his lip, from the pain or the loss, Louis isn’t sure.

“You’re always sending us off on hits, stop acting like you’ve got the moral high ground,” Louis scoffs.

“When I give you a tip I call. I tell you directly! My broadcasts are not to send every idiot in the zones charging towards a Drac sighting, it’s to help people get clear. Get  _safe_.”

Louis clenches his jaw, staring resolutely at the opposite wall; the last thing he wants to do right now is cry. “If it weren’t for your stupid broadcast we never would’ve been there.”

“I’m not gonna stop my broadcasts just because you can’t control your trigger finger and go dragging your friends into every whisper of a fight.”

“I don’t drag them anywhere!”

“I’ve got a feeling Shock would be here right now if not for you jumping at the chance to kill some Dracs.”

Rage balloons in Louis’ chest, presses at his ribs, and gives way to the rushing wave of grief.

He kicks at a nearby amp sitting with its back open and components scatter across the floor. He doesn’t care, just storms out, slamming the door hard enough that he’s a little worried it’ll bring the whole shack down.

The sun is low on the horizon, sitting at eye level across the zones. The sharp sting of light is just enough to trigger all the emotion waiting behind his eyes.

He heaves in a great gasping breath and it shutters on its way out. Tears creep in behind his closed eyes.

He’s been so unbelievably reckless. So unforgivably stupid. The worst part is that Niall would always forgive. Had always forgiven, even when it’d been a close scrape. Was there anyone left who’d still forgive him now?

The geriatric creak of a wheelchair is the only sign Louis is no longer alone. He wipes his sleeve across his face but he looks straight ahead as the shape of Dr Death settles in his periphery.

It’s silent a moment.

“He was always the one warning me,” Louis says. “Always talking me down, or trying to.”

“Can’t imagine that’d be easy,” Nick says, and Louis chokes on a laugh.

“Only time we argued.” He remembers all their little fights, all the times Niall had followed him into battle with a scowl, only to come out ray guns blazing and laughing later on.

Louis squeezes his eyes closed against the thought that he’ll never have that again.

“He was the whole resistance, you know,” Louis says, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. “Aside from you and all this. But everything we did, every raid, every hit, every damn Drac we took out, it was all ‘cause of him. Without the tools and the intel, without that brain of his…” Louis swallows. “He was indispensable to the fight.”

“Think he was indispensable to more than that.”

Nick sighs at Louis’ continued silence. The chair creaks with shift of his weight and he swears for the third time. “You lot… you just—”

Louis turns to see he’s got both hands pressed to his forehead. “You right?”

“You’re gonna get yourselves  _killed_.”

Louis shrinks into the wall, feeling for all the world like a scolded child. He feels like he has no right to any of the bravado he’s touted around for years.

Nick fists one hand in the absurd height of his hair, jaw working like he’s trying not to say what’s on his mind. It’s an unusual thing for Nick to do. He’s much more inclined to let everyone around him hear exactly what he thinks. Louis waits for the inevitable blow, but he doesn’t have the energy to prepare his own blowback—doesn’t think he deserves to have one.

“I don’t wanna give you more opportunities to get yourselves dusted. World’s already full of those.”

“What d’you mean?”

“I mean the rumours that have kept afloat across the zones all these years.”

Louis narrows his eyes. “Rumours?”

“How a Drac is made. How Better Living gets so deep in their heads. Surely you’ve heard them.”

“Of course,” he says, even if he hasn’t.

But then Louis’s mind jumps to a dark night in a pop up full of alcohol and a thumping beat, and Leigh-Anne’s hushed voice talking beneath the current of it all.  _You hear things, you know? That make you think maybe there’s a way back from it…_

“It’s been years since I’ve taken a peek beneath one of them masks. We didn’t know much then—didn’t have the minds to puzzle it out, y’know,” Nick says, one hand gesturing to no one in particular. “It was clear enough those masks couldn’t do all the work, could see that much clear as day. There had to be something else up BL/ind’s sleeve doing the heavy lifting. We could never be sure, mind, not of how they worked, not enough to let it be anything more than rumour.”

“Doc,” Louis interrupts. Nick looks up. “What’re you saying?”

“I’m saying that…  _if_  you could get into Battery City,  _if_  you could clear yourself a path, identify where Shock is and get yourself there—if any of that were possible, there  _might_  be a chance to get him back.”

Louis’ breath stalls. That’s a thought he’d never let himself entertain. Not all those years ago, and certainly not now.

“You don’t come back from the mask,” he shakes his head, refusing any wisp of hope. He wasn’t suckered in by the Witch, and he won’t be made the fool now either. “Once you’ve gone you’re—gone. There’s never been any coming back from that.”

Nick bobs his head in non-committal agreement. “There’s never been, no. But there is a chance—just a chance, mind you, that there  _could_  be.”

“No.”

“Not no. Maybe not yes, but not no.”

A few tendrils of hope slip in between Louis’ ribs. He fears he’d about to let himself be carried away by this chance, even as his instinct fights something as unfamiliar as hope.

“You’re saying there’s a maybe.”

“Yes.”

“A  _real_  maybe?”

“A real maybe, yeah. It ain’t ever been done, but no one’s ever tried it, so.”

Louis has lost a great many things in his life and always held hope at bay. He thought he’d trained himself out of wasting time on it, but the temptation to let it in is greater than he’s ever felt before. More than standing at the Mailbox Shrine in the dead of night, more than landing on Nick’s doorstep when he’d barely made it into double digits. And he knows that if he tries to get Niall back and its not Niall… he won’t come back from that. If he takes the chance and it doesn’t work?

But he can feel it, inside, he’s already preparing himself to face the disappointment. If this is even a maybe, his mind is already made.

“I’ll do it.”

“Now hold on—”

“I’ll save him.”

“He might not—”

“I’ll risk it.”

He kicks off the wall, one hand already resting on the handle of his gun. Nick looks up at him with serious eyes, the gatekeeper between Louis and the one thing left to live for.

“If you get yourself killed, it’s not on me, we clear?”

Louis nods. “Crystal.”

***

“What do you mean, get him back?”

Liam is still on the couch, one hand nursing his sealed wound. Harry, however, is on his feet, face glowing with residual tears.

“We can save Niall,” Louis repeats, a fire growing in his belly.

“He’s been masked, you said it yourself. You and Liam both—you saw him.” Harry says, voice wavering. He turns to Liam, who nods as if to corroborate his story. “He’s gone.”

“No—”

“Well, maybe,” Nick interjects, like he doesn’t want Louis getting carried away. “But he was only  _just_  masked, and we’ve had theories for a long time about what BL/ind does to Dracs. We don’t know what tech they’re using—no one’s ever been able to get in that deep. But we’ve theorised its some kind of brain washing.”

The other three all stare at him, their expressions erring towards doubt. Louis tries to keep his face open, to goad a clearly doubting Harry and Liam onto the bandwagon. He’s trying very hard not to acknowledge that the wagon only has three wheels.

“You’ve theorised,” Harry repeats.

“Me and Shock—” Nick pauses, scrubbing at his neck. “It’s—if he were here…”

The room grows heavy; Louis tries to keep the roof up on his own two shoulders. “You thought it took more than the mask, right?”

“We had our ideas, yeah,” Nick nods. “We suspected it required some kind of prolonged exposure. To keep them compliant, like. A mask can relay electronic impulses if its programmed right, but it can’t change the physiology of the brain. It’s not sophisticated enough. But we never got out hands on a working model—they always go dead when the Drac is killed. Security measure, I guess. But Shock and I, we tracked a pattern. Had to keep an eye on their movements, for my announcements. Shock helped keep us on top of it—genius kid.”

The more highly he speaks of Niall, the more their faces sink. He seems to notice and moves on.

“Any time someone gets masked, they’re instantly dragged back to HQ. Every time—the second they got a new recruit, they head back. We theorised they’ve got some kind of compliance device that makes the change final. The mask can flip a switch but it can’t keep the power on, not forever, not on its own.”

“So you’re saying Niall’s still in there?” Liam asks. His voice is tight. “Under the mask.”

“It takes away his will, but it doesn’t take away who he is,” Nick says. “Right now he’s been suppressed, but they gotta get him back to HQ to make sure he’s empty.”

Louis feels a thread of nausea at the idea of Niall being emptied of everything that makes him who he is. Everything Louis cares about so much.

“So, what, we infiltrate Better Living Headquarters,” Harry deadpans, eyes set on Louis.

Louis doesn’t shrink under his gaze. “That’s exactly what we’re gonna do.”

“That’s your plan.”

“Yep.”

Harry’s mouth presses impossible thinner. “You don’t care how many of us die, do you?”

Louis blanches. “What?”

“Isn’t what happened to Niall enough? Haven’t you learned anything? Now you wanna go charging into Battery City.”

At first, he thinks Harry’s voice is shaking with grief. Then he realises its anger.

“I’m not—”

“You  _are_!” Harry shouts, and its explosive. “Whatever you think you’re not, you are! It’s why we’re here and Niall’s not! He’s always telling you how reckless you are, that you take risks that are too great. It’s exactly what happened to Zayn!”

Louis’ heart drops three rungs.

“He was always the first one to run anywhere with you, and he was the first one to get bit.”

Louis finally finds his voice. “That’s what I’m trying to fix!”

“You can’t fix it!” Harry’s face is flushed. “You don’t fix things! You destroy them.”

“I didn’t see you complaining every time you followed me on one of my ‘reckless’ stints.” Louis points as accusing finger across the room. “In fact, I recall you loved it! You and your grenades that practically scream  _we’re here!_  two zones in either direction.”

“We all followed you. Even Niall, despite his warnings. And guess what? Now he’s gone!”

They’re both breathing heavily. Liam catches Harry’s elbow, and it seems to centre him, shoulders slumping. Louis turns away, nails curled sharp into his palm.

Nick wheels forward, catching Louis’ arm. He raises his brow,  _That’s it?_

Louis swallows, eyes squeezed tight. “Look… you’re right, okay? You’re right. It is my fault. All of this, it’s my fault.”

“Louis,” Liam says softly. “It’s not all—”

“Niall being gone is. But I want to put it right. I want to… I need to get him back.”

Harry’s eyes are still red, still hardened. Louis’ said his peace, so he waits.

“We all want Niall back,” Harry eventually says. “Wanting him back doesn’t do much though, does it? Didn’t for Zayn. He was masked. BL/ind has them both now.”

“Now they do, yes,” Nick nods, drawing their attention. “But there may still be hope for Shock. It hasn’t been long, there’s a chance.”

Liam’s frown deepens. “But if he’s already back at HQ, it’s over. We… we’ve lost him.”

“Maybe not,” Nick says, leaning forward. “You think you’re the first pack of rebels to try and take BL/ind down? We had a group of good rebels a few of years back. Made it into Battery City, got all the way to HQ on a rescue mission.” A shadow briefly passes over Nick’s face. “It went south, the lot of ‘em dusted, but the hostage they were after escaped, and she brought some intel back with her.”

Everyone knows this tale. They were heroes, banner rebels to motivate the masses even after they were gone. Louis used to love hearing stories about them as a child.

“And you never thought to share this intel before?” Liam frowns.

“It’s never been enough to take down BL/ind on its own. The resistance isn’t strong enough for that, not yet. No sense showing our cards when there’s no chance of a revolution, is there?”

“Is that what this is?” Harry asks. “A revolution?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, this is about Niall.” He’s not interested in overthrowing Better Living—not today. He’ll save the world another day. Today he just wants to save Niall.

Liam folds his hands in his lap. “Okay, so what is it? This intel.”

“Got some details on HQ itself. Some security info that’s gotta be outdated by now—no way they didn’t change it up after the Killjoys breached their facility. But we know a little about the layout, the set up.”

“And how’d a hostage manage to get all this?”

“She was just a kid at the time. Guess they didn’t put much stock in her being a threat.”

Louis’ heard of this girl. He was just a kid himself at the time, didn’t understand much about the world or its battles. He doesn’t know what happened to her; he hopes she’s still out there. Maybe even still fighting. In this moment he’s grateful to her for being able to help him fight as well.

Louis chances a look at his comrades. Their mouths are still twisted with uncertainty. Nick fiddles with his soundboard as silence sits over the shack, so still that Louis’ sure the pounding of his heart is audible. He gives them as long as he can, until he just can’t wait anymore.

“So.” His voice feels small. “How ‘bout it?”

Liam and Harry exchange a heavy look. No one speaks, and Louis’ heart sinks. Just for a second, he thinks he’s alone in this.

But then they turn back to him, wet eyes and steeled grins, and Louis grins back.

***

It’s not long before Nick’s alert system picks up a Drac sighting. There’s a squad rolling through Danger Zone 4. Liam’s foot is on the peddle as soon as they’ve got a location.

Harry’s grenades make it fairly easy to round them up as Liam steers expertly around the incoming fire. Louis fires back as carefully as he can, trying not to leave them all dead. He’s only ever gone for the kill, so the restraint feels unfamiliar. He gets two in the shoulder, one in the stomach, and one smack in the chest. Two were clipped by a grenade, and look like a lost cause. Louis hopes at least three of them are still alive.

Louis has never removed a Drac’s mask before. He’s not sure what to expect, but it’s not the virtually untouched face of a young woman. She looks to be about his age, dark corkscrew curls and freckles scattered across her earthy skin. Her breathing is wet and laboured. She seems so completely normal. Louis feels an uncomfortable, unexpected pang of remorse for the laser that blew through her just minutes ago.

Liam and Harry seem similarly troubled. Fortune has favoured them today with three Dracs still clinging to life. But once they’ve collected the masks, they’re not sure what to do.

“They’re not… people, anymore,” Harry says, but his brow trembles. Three human faces stare blankly up at the sky, struggling to breath, showing no pain or fear, even as the life slips slowly from them.

“We can’t just leave them like this,” Liam grimaces.

Louis swallows down his nausea. “Yes we can.”

He’s never felt guilty leaving Drac bodies to decompose beneath the sun. This time, though, he tells himself that given the chance, he’ll return and bury them properly with Niall at his side.

Nick is careful about handling the masks when they get back. Louis, Liam and Harry all have reservations about the plan, but according to Nick there’s no need. There’s no way he’ll let any one of them don a mask until he’s absolutely certain he’s deactivated them.

Much to Nick’s disdain, Louis flanks him the entire time he works. On top of that, there’s wiring inlaid into the fabric like membranes, dashing his hope of stripping it completely.

“They’ve upgraded since I got into this game.” he signs. “‘Fraid we’re gonna have to find a way to switch it off, otherwise this plan’s a no-go.”

“What if we just dunk it underwater,” Liam suggests. “Fry the circuits?”

“They’re a little sturdier than that,” Nick rolls his eyes.

Liam leans back, muttering, “Don’t see you coming up with any big ideas.”

“This entire plan was born of my genius, thank you very much.”

“Do we even need the masks?” Harry asks. He’s been pacing since they got back, skittish and restless.

“Only safe way into the city.”

“Those rebels managed it all those years ago.”

“And they never came back out. Besides, Drac numbers have multiplied since then. There’ll be no driving that rust bucket through the barricades for you lot.”

“Hey,” Liam interjects on behalf of his rust bucket.

“Listen, just sit tight and give me a bit of time with these. They’re intricate tech, it’s gonna take me a minute.” Nick pulls his lamp in close and adjusts the telescopic lens on his glasses. “Shame Shock’s not here. This is right in his wheelhouse.”

Louis, whose leg has been bouncing since this exchange began, heads outside for a smoke.

***

Three cigarettes and a sunset later, Louis is still stood outside the shack looking out across Danger Zone 5. He can just see the very tips of Battery City on the horizon, disappearing into a darkening sky.

He jumps a little when Harry sidles up next to him.

“Destroya above, how’d you keep the door so quiet?”

“You left it open,” Harry shrugs. Louis crunches the butt of his cigarette it underfoot. The last wisps of smoke curl up from beneath his shoe. Harry’s never been a fan, which Louis finds ludicrous given his penchant for smoke. Besides, it’s one of the least likely killers these days. Still, he’s had enough of a serving from Harry for one day.

“Sorry for before,” Harry mumbles, looking down at his boots. “Was out of line.”

“No, you were right. About a lot of it. Probably all of it.”

“It’s not your fault Niall’s gone, or that we were there. We’re all putting ourselves in danger constantly. I mean, yeah, you’re usually running in first, but we all love it. I love it.”

Louis watches him, unsure of what to say. Harry laughs softly.

“What?”

“‘S just funny, seeing you speechless.”

“Shut it.”

“Should take a photo.”

“I’m gonna have a lot to say in a minute.”

Harry laughs again.

“C’mon, the Doc looked like he was on the brink of a breakthrough when I came out here. Maybe he’s cracked it.”

“Just cracked, more like.”

Inside, Nick’s still bent double over his workspace. Liam’s dozing on the lounge, leg propped up on a crate.

“Ah ha!” Nick cries, startling Liam into consciousness. He wheels his chair around with a triumphant grin. “Perfect timing boys! When you rescue Shock from the clutches of Better Living, you can tell him he was saved by his own genius.”

“What do you mean?” But Louis’ already half-smiling.

“Shock’s got a brain in him. Don’t know if he’s familiar with their tech ‘cause of all the time he spent eavesdropping on them, or if he’s worth every scientist they got working at HQ combined. He’s been using tech like this for years!”

Louis and Harry are at his sides now, hunched forward to see what Nick’s talking about. He turns the mask in his hands inside out, and the lamplight catches on the circuitry lattice.

“The webbing, that’s all new to me. But here, this little chip at the base of the mask?” He taps his nail against a tiny gold square right at the hem. It’s so small that Louis only sees it when it glints in the lamplight. “That’s the same kind of chip Shock’s been using to tap into their broadcasts.”

A flare of pride bloom in Louis’ chest.

“This is much more complex, mind. The tech they’ve got access to in Battery City, I can’t even imagine what they’re working with. But it’s just close enough—”

“Hang on,” Liam chimes in. “If that chip is some kinda… receiver, does that mean Better Living’s feeding instructions through the mask?”

“Could do,” Nick shrugs. “Could be a recall method. Could be anything, really. Point is, it’s the brain of this mask’s nervous system. Disengage it and you lot are good to go.”

“And is it? Disengaged?” Harry’s still eying the mask warily.

“Sure is. Go ahead, try it.”

It’s fair to say Louis’ been the most gung-ho about this plan so far. A lifetime of trying to escape the mask warns Louis against it, but he knows if anyone’s gonna be the one to test this, its him.

He accepts the mask, turning it right-way ‘round so the wiring is back on the inside. Look down into that familiar, gaping mouth runs a shiver down his spine. Louis swallows, hooks his thumbs inside the hem and slips it over his eyes.

There’s a second of darkness, and then his surroundings come back as if through a monochromatic filter. The gauze over his eyes allows him to see out, but he knows to everyone else they’re just black, soulless pockets. His looks from Nick to Harry to Liam, each more tense than the last.

“Think the last fella to wear this needed a good wash,” Louis says.

The room releases a collective breath. Louis removes the mask; he’d rather not wear it any longer than necessary.

“Good,” Nick nods, before turning the second mask inside out and handing it to Harry.

“So weird,” Harry murmurs, looking between Louis’ face and the mask in his hands. “And creepy.”

“Creepy is what we want,” Louis says. “Creepy gets us to Niall.”

***

It takes some convincing for everyone to trust that Liam is strong enough. He does a few laps of the room to prove his mobility. Louis does think he’s favouring one leg, but the gel Nick applied is keeping him together.

“We need all the manpower we can get.”

“Just make sure your manpower isn’t a bigger liability than his absence would be,” Nick warns. Harry retains a worried tilt to his brow.

They’d each taken a bike from the squad they de-masked, as well as the white jumpsuits off their backs. They’ve got a little wear and tear, but they’ll do.

Nick’s wheeled himself outside to give a few final words of caution.

“You’re very much on your own in this—even more than in the zones. Stay vigilant, watch each other’s backs.”

With the sun crossing overhead, they drive in silence, separated by their three bikes. The peaks of Battery City grow taller as they approach. It takes more than half the trip to gross Zones 4 and 3, a little less to get through Zone 2, and before any of them are ready, they hit the edge of Zone 1.

Just before they left, Nick picked up a report of Dracs in Zone 1.

“Look!” Harry shouts over their engines. Louis sees a few figures moving fast in the distance, evenly spaced, almost militant. Liam leads them on a trajectory to catch up.

A nervous knot pulls at the centre of Louis’ chest as they approach. He’s only ever observed the city from a safe distance and heard tales from people who got inside. He knows that without this mask over his head, it’s a death wish. The Killjoys proved that. It’s odd, to be protected by something he’s hated so long.

Battery City is a sharp line in the red desert sand that very suddenly becomes hard concrete. The perimeter is walled off by terminals, only broken up by tall turnstiles every few yards. They look like they were once built for traffic, but now their bars are caked in dust as if rusted in place.

The squad they’re tailing steers towards one of wider turnstiles, flanked by two guards. It opens up to allow them passage, and they ride in on thin trails of red dust against the cold grey—breadcrumbs left by Drac patrols past.

Louis’ heart rate climbs, reaching a crescendo as he crosses over the perimeter and into Battery City. The rush floods his veins with cold energy, and he takes a deep, gasping breath beneath the mask. He’s inside. The world instantly loses its colour as they leave the red of the zones behind.

It’s not that Louis had ever imagined the city as a paradise—how could it be, under Better Living.  But it doesn’t resemble anything like the propaganda they’ve intercepted in the past. It’s…

“What’s a dump,” Liam says faintly, before the wind carries it away.

It’s a slum. Rundown and filthy, with debris lining the streets and peeling posters that hang limp and damp from the walls. There are stones chipped off the sidewalks and broken windows in almost every store front. They ride beneath electronic billboards that advertise easy escapes with sterile faces and empty smiles. Bus stops advertise the number for SCARECROW, encouraging citizens to report anything out of the ordinary.

The pristine spires of Better Living tower over everything else.

Louis has only ever known the scavenger-like life of the zones. If there’s anything he’d expected to find in Battery City, it’s a sense of contentment. Vacant and lifeless, perhaps, but at least well-fed in their obedience to BL/ind. But Louis thinks these people look worse off than him. No meat on their bones, and a chilling absence in their eyes. He’s never seen that in the propaganda Niall’s managed to tap into.

He thinks about Niall, somewhere in this place, and more than anything just wants to get him out.

They pass another squad of Dracs, clearly on patrol, and Louis’ almost swerves in panic. They don’t even give him a second glance, and he remembers that from the outside, he’s one of them. People shy away with their heads down as he passes.

They deeper they ride, the more the city appears intact. it doesn’t exactly get cleaner, but there’s a patchwork sense of order to it. Signs of life become more common. Alleys stem off the main roads, full of tents and spilling people. Shop fronts have neon signs instead of aluminium shutters.

The squad they’re tailing makes a sharp turn towards an enormous tower. At the very top is the large logo of Better Living Industries. Louis’ heart picks back up. Niall is in there somewhere.

The road they’re on is disturbingly immaculate, and lines up with a courtyard at the foot of the tower. There are even gardens. Louis’ never seen a garden before. There are a lot more people here too, but they’re different. There are guards wearing white masks printed with wide, smiling faces above heavy-duty vests. There are people in fitted skirts and ties with dark briefcases. They greet each other cordially as they pass on the lawns. Its worlds away from the city they’re surrounded by.

The squad veers left and leads them into an underpass beneath the tower. It’s lit by a strip of light on either side and up ahead is a boom gate with a security booth housing two guards.

Louis’ palms begin to sweat against the handlebars. Everything up until now has been the easy part.

Liam rides directly ahead of him, and Harry behind, to mimic the formation of the squad they followed. Louis wonders if his friends feel the same tightness in their chests. He feels the weight gratitude to them for following him into this, and an equal measure of fear that he’s leading them to their deaths. But, he remembers, they’re not doing this for him. They’re doing it for Niall—they all are.

To Louis’ great relief, the boom gate lifts in anticipation of their approach. The account given by the young hostage was fragmented, but suggested their masks would be enough to get them in. But once they do, they’re on their own.

The guards don’t spare them a second glance, and the ground begins a steady descent into an underground parking garage. Above the entrance is a large metal plate with an embossed logo—a circle with a scarecrow in the middle, and the words SCARECROW UNIT written around the rim. Inside there are rows upon rows of bikes lined up all neat and tidy. The order with which Dracs seem to conduct themselves in the city contradicts the veritable chaos Louis has seen from them in the zones. He’s always seen them as monsters, not soldiers.

They pull up at the end of the nearest row, perfectly in line, and dismount. The squad they’d followed walks with uncharacteristic calm towards a large foyer to the left. There are four elevators behind a wall of glass, with Dracs waiting in line.

Louis tries to mimic how they walk, predatory but compliant, and they join the nearest line to wait for a heart-pumping few minutes. They crowd in with a handful of others, and Louis does a double take at the number of floors. Niall could be on any one of them. He doesn’t press one, just follows the others up to the fourteenth floor.

Its profoundly uncomfortable to stand in such tight, strangely civilised quarters with Dracs. It goes against every one of Louis’ self-preservational instincts, and anywhere else at any other time, Louis wouldn’t hesitate to leave them dusted. His fingers twitch towards his hip, where his gun usually hangs, out of instinct. It’s currently tucked into his shoes beneath the cuff of his disguise.

Maybe there will be time for killing later, once he’s got Niall. He hopes they’re in time.

The elevator doors open onto a sterile, brightly-lit hall, whiter and cleaner than anything Louis has ever seen in his life. Even through the gauze of his mask, he lifts a hand to shield his eyes.

The other Dracs file out with a clear sense of direction, but the three of them tuck themselves against the wall to avoid the flow of activity. There’s another SCARECROW logo on the opposite wall. Louis scans the hall, which is lined by doors in both directions. Liam tugs him left by the sleeve.

Each door has a slim windowpane, and some rooms are full of computers, others are full of people in pristine lab coats pointing at figures scrawled across large white boards. Some of the rooms are dark.

Niall could be in any of them.

The enormity of where they are and what they’re doing begins to catch up. Louis is looking into one room, in a floor full of rooms, in a building full of floors. There are so many masks walking around, any one of which could be Niall.  _None_  of which could be Niall. They pass more and more doors and more and more people and the possibilities spiral out far beyond what he can handle. Something grabs at his arm and he turns—a Drac.

“We gotta find Walker,” it says, and it’s Liam. “She’s the one the Doc mentioned.”

Liam’s voice is centring. Louis takes a deep breath and tries to shrink back into the here and now.

Dr Walker was the one name the hostage girl had come back with all those years ago. It’s their one lead within the SCARECROW unit. They know hardly anything about her, just that she’d been a key figure in Draculoid programming at the time, so they’re banking on BL/ind fostering lifelong career goals. If Niall is a new recruit, they’ll take him to her.

Liam leads them back the way they came, bypassing the elevators and turning off the main corridor, away from the bustle.

“The door numbers were getting bigger that way. If we’re gonna do this, we best be systematic about it.”

The set of Liam’s shoulders are sure, and makes Louis feel comparably out of sorts. He’s been floundering since they got inside, and he needs to collect himself for Niall’s sake. He tells himself they’re not starting from 0. They’re on a SCARECROW floor. Niall will be on a SCARECROW floor.

They follow the door numbers—1411, 1410, 1409—until commotion of the hall is a distant hum. They peak around one more corner and see room 1401 with the door open. There are large screens control panels along the left, and a row of Dracs against the right. The wall in between is all window, looking out on tall buildings that block the unsavoury view of the city edges.

A scientist with a buzzcut and thick glasses paces the room with a tablet in one hand.

“Look at the Dracs,” Harry whispers. “Their masks.”

There are wires dangling from the back of each mask, leeching into little ports in the wall.

“Maintenance?” Louis whispers back. “Collecting data?”

“No idea, but I don’t think we wanna be caught here. Our masks aren’t exactly gonna pass that test.”

The three of them double back around the corner to room 1402, and begin systematically checking each windowpane. Some of the rooms are dark, but most of the rooms are the same as room 1401, but on a smaller scale. Louis begins to worry that perhaps finding themselves on this floor is less fortuitous than he’d thought. But, he reassures himself, the closer they are to danger, the closer they likely are to Niall.

They work all the way back past the elevators, and just as they reach room 1427, with its door slightly ajar, Louis hears:

“—Walker asked for it specifically.”

He stops so suddenly that Harry bumps into him.

“What—”

“He said something about Walker,” Louis says, flattening himself against the wall.

“Are you sure?”

Louis nods. Liam peeks inside.

“There’s just two guys in there,” he whispers.

“Do they look like scientists?” Harry asks.

“Everyone looks like scientists,” Louis snaps.

“There’s no need—”

“They’re coming.”

Liam pushes them both around the nearest corner as two men step out and head in the other direction.

“We need to find out where they’re going,” Louis says, but Liam grabs him by the arm. “What—”

“ _Don’t be reckless_ ,” Liam hisses.

Louis tries to pull free but Liam’s hold is tight. They follow so slowly that they start to fall behind. Luckily they stop in front of the elevators and Louis strains his ears.

“—get to Level 17 to make sure the tube is recalibrated—”

Louis rushes forward as they step onto the elevator but Liam yanks him back.

“ _Wait_.”

Louis slams the button but too late, the elevator has already left.

“Lou, take it easy,” Harry murmurs as a woman glances their way. “We can’t be suspicious.”

It takes a moment for another one to arrive, and when they rush inside Harry presses the close button frantically before anyone else can join them. Louis hits 17.

“Keep a level head,” Liam warns, but Louis is hearing him through a fog. Every step closer to Niall is a spike at his heel, forcing his momentum.

“We’re on a rescue mission, we’ve gotta be a little reckless.”

“ _No_ , we don’t.” Liam rounds on him quite suddenly. It’s one of those rare instances when he uses his height to claim his ground, and it does start Louis into attention. “We’re not in the zones! We can’t just blast through anything in front of us. This is their territory so we need to be careful, or else we’ll never find Niall.”

Louis can feel the weight of his ray gun against his ankle as he bounces his foot. Liam’s right, he knows it. He deflates in one big breath. Once again, its Niall that brings him down.

“Yeah,” Louis breathes. “Yeah. So, what do we do now?”

“We stay calm, and we scope the floor like we did the last one.”

The elevator dings and this time Harry is the first one out.

Unlike level 14, this floor is completely empty. There’s no sign of the two scientists, and every door is shut. Some of them don’t even have a windowpane.

The sudden vacuum of noise makes it particularly obvious when approaching footsteps make themselves known.

“We might have a problem,” Harry says.

The three of them whip around to see a guard with one of those blank smiles pulled down over his head and a monstrous ray gun hanging off one shoulder.

“What are you lot doing up here?” he says, and it’s a bit of a shock to hear him speak. Louis had just pictured them as evil automatons, like Dracs. He keeps forgetting there are people under there.

“There’s no reason for you to be here, you know you’re restricted to 15 and below.”

Louis looks at his friends, who seem equally lost at their first real obstacle.

“Were hoping for a tour, actually,” Louis says. “You know, see the facility.”

Liam and Harry’s heads snap towards him. The guard pauses, puzzled for just long enough that Louis grabs his gun. It fires into the ceiling and Liam goes for the guard’s other arm. Harry slams his palm into the guard’s chin and throws a sharp left hook at his jaw. The guard drops and kicks out, catching Liam’s leg. He stumbles back but Louis manages to wrench the gun free and slam butt against the guard’s face. He’s out cold.

Harry immediately runs his hands over Liam’s leg while Liam insists he’s fine. His voice is quite tight, though.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah, just stings. It’s fine, Harry.”

“Well we probably shouldn’t leave him here.” Harry gestures the guard.

Louis’ adrenaline has kicked into gear after finally engaging with someone. “We can’t waste time hiding guards.”

“Louis,” Liam says. “We have to be careful. Cover our tracks.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Fine, let’s just stick him behind one of these doors, quick.”

The nearest room is thankfully unlocked and empty, so he and Harry drag the guard in by his feet.

“Right, can we get back to Niall now?”

“Stop acting like you’re the only one that wants to find him,” Liam growls.

“Sure seems like it,” Louis mutters.

“Seriously, enough!”

Liam rips his mask off, backing Louis into the wall. Behind him is the sad tilt of Harry’s shoulders.

“I know what he means to you,” Liam says, and Louis averts his eyes. “I get it, but he matters to all of us. We’re here to find him as a team so let’s act like it. For Niall, yeah?”

And for the second time, Louis reigns himself in. He knows the buzz under his skin is getting worse the closer they get, but he doesn’t want it to jeopardise the mission. They can’t fail because of him.

“I say we split up,” he says. “We’ll get through this floor faster.”

“What did I  _just_  say about being a team?”

“I heard you, Throttle, and you’re right, okay? But we’re also on the clock here. We don’t know what they’re doing to Niall or what they’ve even already done to him.”

“Fine,” Liam sighs, tugging his mask back on. “ _Fine_. But Harry goes with you, I don’t want you alone when you’re like this.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m not leaving you alone with that leg,” Harry argues.

“You need the back up,” Louis agrees. “I’ll be fine.”

Liam throws up his hands in surrender. “ _Fine_. If any of us come up against anyone we don’t engage, alright? We find each other first—no fighting BL/ind alone.”

“Got it,” Louis nods, and takes off without another word.

He presses an ear to the doors without a windowpane. Some of them have a strip of light beneath the door, a few contain indistinguishable voices, but mostly just mechanical whirring. The corridors turn and turn to the point that Louis stops keeping track of room numbers until he’s face-to-face with a dead end and one final door. There’s a security panel by the handle.

There’s a very faint strip of light beneath the door and when he presses close he can hear movement. He slips his ray gun out of his shoe, checks over his shoulder and zaps the security panel. It’s sparks, fizzles, then there’s a dull click. He gently tries the handle—it gives.

It’s another lab, but there’s only a row of blinking servers along the far wall and what appear to be a slightly smaller lab taking up most of the space to his left. There are muffled voices coming from inside, and the faint light. There’s a windowpane on the double doors, and when he looks through he can see that the smaller lab is split again by a convex wall. Two technicians are silhouetted by a blindingly bright viewing window. There’s a spread of keyboards beneath them, and a few small monitors. Louis is about to tip toe back out when he spots a figure sitting limp on the other side of the window.

Niall’s wrists are bound to his chair, and his head hangs forward so all Louis can see are the sunny tips of his hair. He’s not moving.

Louis’ breath sticks in his throat.

_“Welcome to the Tube, candidate.”_

He jumps at the sound of a cool, female voice. It’s loud but slightly muffled, like its coming through a wall. One of the monitors beneath the viewing window shows a pale woman with a sleek black bob that curves at her jaw.

_“Your presence has been requested because there is something inside of you we need to extract…”_

Her voice is coming from inside. One of Niall’s fingers twitch.

_“Something that has been deemed inappropriate for our great city of the Battery. A feeling…”_

Niall stirs. He sways, like he’s woozy, but doesn’t open his eyes.

Louis thumps the door, once, as hard as he can, then tucks himself out of sight. There’s a pause, then footsteps. He cocks his gun, and the door opens.

“Is som—”

The technician is down before he can finish. Louis darts inside and shoots the other one before she even realises what’s happened. There’s a heavy metal lever midway along the convex wall. He plants his feet and pulls as hard as he can, trying to ignore the smell of burnt hair. It creaks and eventually gives, groaning open. 

The inside of the Tube is so white it’s hard to see where the floor curves up, and Louis slips stepping inside. Right in the centre is Niall.

Louis rips off his mask and drops in front of Niall, cupping his neck. Niall skin is so cold that he shivers at the touch. He can feel the throb of a pulse, and breathes.

Behind him, on the wall directly in front of Niall, is another screen with the same woman, still talking.

_“It is better to extinguish the spark before it has the chance to grow.”_

“Niall.” Louis tries to find his eyes. They’re half-lidded and hazy. “Niall, wake up, it’s Louis.”

He can feel the warm puff of breath against his arm, but Niall doesn’t respond. The legs of the chair disappear into the floor, locked in place, and the cuffs around his wrists are tightened with thick screws like a vice.

“Come on, lad.”

_“To put it as clearly as possible…”_

Louis starts to unscrew one of them, but it’s fiddly.

_“…there is something wrong with you…”_

“Come  _on_.”

_“And we are going to fix it.”_

Niall groans.

“Niall!”

Louis’ got one cuff unscrewed but abandons the second one to grab Niall’s shoulder.

“Hey, it’s me, hey.”

Niall’s eyes take a moment to focus, scanning blindly from side to side until they settle on Louis.

“Who…” he moans. Louis’ heart gives a sickening lurch. No. “Wh… Lou…”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, relieved. “Yeah, mate, I’m here. Gonna get you out of here.”

He gets to work on the second cuff. Niall’s head hangs heavy but he’s still conscious, and he remembers Louis. He’s not gone yet. Nick was right. Louis’ holding onto anything he can.

The screw finally gives and the cuff clatters to the floor.

“Alright, here we go.”

“Not so fast.”

It’s that same cool, female voice, but not so soft this time. Louis turns to the screen, and it’s the same woman, but she’s different. Her bob is longer, brushing her shoulders, her eyes are more hooded, and her lips are curved in a coddling but threatening smile.

She’s still looking into the camera—right at them—but now there’s recognition in her eyes.

“Now that can’t have been easy,” she croons. “I’m very impressed.”

Louis tries to keep his face even, despite the panic that just clawed up his throat. “Good to challenge yourself every now and then.” He stands straight and Niall’s eyes follow him, one wrist resting in an open cuff and the other in his lap.

“And I wonder what it is you’ll do now,” she hums.

“I wouldn’t worry about us, life finds a way, you know.”

“Oh I’m certainly not worried, I  _am_  very interested. I do always enjoy seeing you in action.”

“Lou…”

Niall’s voice is dry and cracked like he hasn’t spoken for hours. Louis rests one hand against the side of his face.

“Yeah, mate, it’s alright. We’re getting out of here now.”

He takes Niall’s elbow to try and gently guide him up. His ribs are starting to ache from his pounding heart. Niall’s dead weight, not even trying to get to his feet. Louis doesn’t want to push him but they’re clearly busted; their window of time must be draining like a punctured gas tank. He gets a hand under each arm to hoist him and hope his feet will catch on.

“What exactly is your plan, Rogue?”

Louis looks back at the screen, where the woman has one finger curled on her chin.

“Seems unfair,” he huffs, releasing Niall’s weight to face her. “You know me, but I haven’t had the pleasure.”

“Oh, I’ve known you and Electric Shock here for a very long time. I’ve seen you out there causing your little bits of chaos. But I suppose you’re right, we are more civilised here in Battery City. You may call me Madam Director.”

“Madam, is it? Well, can’t say it’s a pleasure myself, but if you’ll excuse us—”

“Now, now, you and I both know you’re not much of a mastermind. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like Shock here is up to the planning, today.”

“I think he’s earned a day off.” Louis pats at Niall’s knee with a shaky hand, hoping it looks steady. “I can take this one.”

“I’m afraid your mind is likely not up to the task,” she says, even as he’s trying to heave Niall onto his feet. “In fact, I’m rather surprised you were able to think your way in at all without Shock there to help you. He is, after all, the brains of your little outfit. Why do you think he was the one we took?”

Louis’ grip falters.

“You see, we know all about your raids and trouble making, and we also know your incapacitated friend is the one responsible for all those brilliant ideas. And he is quite brilliant. In fact, I think that without him, your rebel forces won’t amount to much at all.”

Louis swallows, but his throat is sickly thick. His hands shake where they’re tight against Niall’s hips, finally holding him upright. He knows she’s right. That Niall is the one who put together the difficult parts of all their plans. That his is the influence that ever really made a difference. Without him, their raids would’ve been half in number and mostly harmless. Even this, their ability to get into the City, to HQ, was born of the pieces of a plan Niall once mused over with Nick in his spare time. Louis can’t even claim this rescue—Niall has saved himself. And they may not make it out, because Niall only has Louis now.

Niall’s found his footing but leans heavily against Louis shoulder. He’s pale, like that time he was laid up at Nick’s shack with an infection and didn’t see the sun for two weeks. His hands are weak where they hold Louis back, but his touch is fortifying. Louis may not have Niall’s gifts or his brilliance, but he has him back, and he’s going to do everything he can to get them out.

“I don’t want to insult my good friend here,” Louis says, hoping his grin doesn’t wobble. “But I think you’re overestimating his value just a touch, hey, lad?”

He nudges Niall gently and hopes he has enough strength in him—that their tank of luck hasn’t totally run dry. That by some miracle, Liam and Harry will be the first to come rushing through that door.

As if she’s read his mind, Madam says, “I wouldn’t put too much stock in your two little friends. They’re being rounded up as we speak. It’s a shame, as I’m sure they’d agree with me that without Shock you’re quite hopeless.”

Niall groans with pain and Louis realises he’s squeezing Niall’s arm.

“Sorry, lad. What do you say we get out of here? Don’t think this broad has anything left to tell us.”

Niall’s gaze is unfocused, so Louis cups his jaw to catch his eyeline. Niall’s eyes do a wandering loop before they settle on him, and he rests his hand on top of Louis’. A shiver runs up Louis’ arm and down his spine, and he knows it’s not the time but he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. There’s tinkling laughter behind them, and a drawn out, “ahh.”

“Now this is familiar,” she hums. Louis’ smile instantly drops and his insides pool in his gut. “I’ve seen this in many people who come through the Tube. But not to worry, that’s the first thing to go.”

“Ready?” Louis whispers. He feels the barest nod under his hand, and slips his other arm around Niall’s waist. Madam is silent as they take one step, then two, and they’re halfway to the door when a sudden, ear-splitting noise sends Louis buckling to the floor.

It’s a sound he’s heard before, back at the Spires, but its sharper now, raw like his ears haven’t yet recovered. Above him, Niall has his hands pressed to his ears.

“Niall,” he moans. The ground beneath them shakes and Louis looks up to see that the Tube has been sealed closed. “No!” he shouts, but can’t hear himself. He crawls through the pain and presses his hands against the now-smooth wall. His fingers can barely find the slight indentation of a seal where he knows the door should be. His head starts to spin and his eyesight goes bleary. He has to get them out of here. They’re going to die. Because of him, they’re dying.

There’s an explosive bang that Louis certainly  _does_  hear. The Tube shakes and Louis flinches away from the door, clapping his hands back over his ears. He drops his head between his knees, gasping.  

The vivid white behind his eyelids dulls. Louis opens his eyes to a square of darkness; its fuzzy, like there are shadows moving inside. He squints against the pulsing pain in his head and the shadows start to take form. One of them crouches down in front of him, and two hands cups his own, peeling them away from his ears. He curls his fingers, trying to resist, but he’s not strong enough… it hurts…

And then it’s gone. Absolute, ringing silence, and the space between his ears is throbbing just from memory. He blinks, focusing in on the figure in front of him. It’s Harry.

“You okay?” Harry says. His lower lip is split and there’s blood running down from his widow’s peak.

“I—” Louis winces. “Yeah, I’m—wait. Niall.”

Behind him, Liam has his hands pressed to Niall’s ears, and Niall is slumped in relief. Louis feels around until he touches something small and rubbery in his ear.

“Plugs,” Harry says, offering his hand. “They block out that sound. We found them in a supply cupboard.”

Liam leans against the side of the Tube while Harry wraps his arms around Niall. His leg is bleeding where they patched him up earlier, but he grins at Louis.

“How’d you find us?” Louis asks.

“After we got busted by some more guards we ran back to see if you were alright.” Harry’s bleeding from his knuckles. He looks at the chair that held Niall. “What is this thing?”

“Brainwashing, after the masks, to make it permanent, she said...” Louis checks the screen, but it’s now black. The woman is gone.

“We could see her talking on a screen out there,” Harry says, pointing through the viewing window to the monitors outside the Tube. “Saw both of you on a screen too. It cut out when Liam smashed them up.”

“C’mon, we gotta go,” Liam interrupts, and offers Niall a supportive arm despite needing to be propped up himself. His face is grey and his jaw is tight.

“Right,” Harry claps. “So, anyone got an escape plan handy?”

The four of them exchange varying looks of distress. Louis’ hand finds the mask tucked into his waistband. “We’ve still got these.”

Harry pulls his out eagerly as well but Liam says, “we don’t have one for Niall.”

“Can’t be that hard to find one.”

“But it won’t have been deactivated,” Liam shakes his head.

Louis swears, looking around in the hopes that something will appear within the barren confines of the Tube.

Without warning, Harry grabs Niall by the shoulders, cries, “I know!” and hurries him out the door. Louis helps Liam limp after them.

Harry leads them back into the corridor and around a series of corners before triumphantly calling out. Liam and Louis eventually catch up to see him pulling a smiling mask off a guard splayed across the floor.

“Here.” Niall’s hands fly up as Harry pulls the mask over his head. “Noo, no, this mask is normal, no brainwashing.”

The rest of them pull on their masks as a siren screams through the speakers in the ceiling. Louis’ heart drops; their chance of escape is evaporating.

“C’mon, we gotta go!”

Harry slips under Liam’s arm so Louis can usher Niall along. They stumble down the hall, past a few more unconscious guards, and make it back to the elevators. Niall’s fiddling with the hem of his mask as they watch the floor number climb slowly, slowly. They rush through the leisurely opening doors and Louis hits B for Basement. If they can just get back to their bikes…

He frantically pounds the Close Door button, but just as they slide closed, every other floor number lights up.

“Wait!” Liam wheezes. “Get out—”

Harry throws a hand between the doors just as they’re about to close and pries them back open.

“Now what,” Louis puffs as they scramble back into the hall. His heart is beating so hard it’s starting to affect his breathing.

“Stairs?” Harry cries, a declaration and a question all at once.

“Where are the stairs?”

“I don’t know!”

“This way! We went past them before.” Liam leads the charge back the other way.

They follow Harry and Liam passed door after door until Louis spots one with a zigzag symbol resembling a staircase. Liam pushes with both hands and they stumble into a concrete stairwell.  

“How is this any better than the lift?” Louis groans, immediately rushing down the first set of stairs. He tries to help Niall, who’s feet have no rhythm and hands are clamped around the railing.

“At least we’re not trapped in a little box!” Liam says from behind. Their steps echo through the stairwell and when Louis looks over the railing, the floors go so far down he can’t see the bottom.

Their steps bounce off the walls, louder and louder as they go, but then Louis realises—they’re making far too much noise between the four of them. He peaks back down the shaft and sees hands on the railing a few floors down.

Louis yanks Niall back a step and reaches for his ray gun. “We’re not alone, lads.”

Liam and Harry pull out their guns as well. Niall doesn’t have one and Louis pushes him away from the railing. Louis crowds onto the nearest landing with Liam and Harry, trigger finger poised. He isn’t sure how good their odds are with two injuries and only three guns between the four of them. Approaching steps become clearer on the floor below them, so Louis peeks back down the shaft and sees the eye of a ray gun.

He jerks back as a shot whizzes past his nose and fires twice in response. That releases the floodgates, and gunfire fills the stairwell. He drops into a crouch and rips off his mask for better visibility. Liam is laid across the stairs just below the landing, and Harry is pressed back against the wall, one hand reaching into his jacket. He pulls out a grenade, pulls the pin, and pitches it onto the landing just out of Louis’ eyeline. There’s an almighty bang and the stairwell shakes as blue smoke explodes below them.

“Nice,” Louis grins. Liam gets to his feet and inches towards the thinning smoke, gun raised. Harry takes Niall by the shoulders to guide him forward. They make it past two more landings and a few unconscious bodies before another crowd of feet approach.

Niall ducks in the corner while Liam and Louis take as many shots as they can get in. They’re ducking out of the line of fire more often than not, saved only when Harry throws a second grenade, followed by another great  _boom_. Louis tumbles sideways and get a stair to the rib, coughing through pink smoke.

Niall seems to grow more lucid with time; his feet get steadier on the stairs to the point that he can move without help. This is only interrupted by Harry throwing two more grenades against more oncoming BL/ind operatives.

“Don’t destroy our only exit!” Louis shouts.

“You got a better idea to get through?” Harry’s face is half obscured by green smoke and he’s already got another grenade in hand.

Louis passes a door that reads ‘G – Ground” and knows the Basement level must be close, but Liam yanks him back.

“We’ll be trapped underground if we go back to the basement. Not enough exits.”

“You decide this after we run down fourteen flights of—don’t even think about it!” Louis barks at Harry, who’s aiming a grenade at the stairs above them like a shot put.

“Come on,” Liam beckons, turning the door handle.

“God,  _fine_ , let’s —”

The door opens onto an empty corridor lined with flashing, red lights. They shuffle out one by one, ray guns held high. Louis takes the lead, creeping forward to peek around the wall. The corridor opens into a wide foyer with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that look out onto the street.

There are four guards, two pacing the foyer and two stationed by the front doors. They’re clearly on high alert, ray guns at the ready.

Louis points the tip of his gun around the corner and gets a clean shot through the shoulder of one door guard. The second he drops his partner takes aim, but he’s hit dead in the chest and collapses as well. Louis then takes out one of the roaming guards, and the final one is down before he knows what hit them. Louis turns to see Liam at his shoulder, one eye closed and his ray gun smoking at the end.

“Come on.”

They creep across the foyer feeling horribly exposed. It’s dark outside, but the city is generously lit.  There are flood lights pointed out towards the courtyard, and heavy patrols on either side. Louis knows any chance of slipping out undetected disappeared the moment he entered the Tube; their only chance now is to escape in plain sight.

Louis scans the street for something, anything they can use. The concrete patio stretches the length of the building, then descends in three wide steps to the sidewalk. An armoured van is parked at the curb, with it two white-coated scientists and two armed guards.

He pulls out his Drac mask and his eyes find great relief when the desaturated lens softens the red lights. Liam and Harry follow suit, and Niall is still concealed beneath the mask they’d lifted from the guard. It’s particularly eerie to know the thing Louis most cares about is hidden under there.

“Make for the van. Try to walk in formation,” Louis whispers.

“What formation?” Harry whispers back.

“Any formation.”

“There’s no point if it’s not the right formation!”

Louis hisses, “Just don’t look suspicious,” and pushes through the door.

He instinctively wants to shrink back but keeps his head high and walks as evenly as he can, hoping the others have followed suit. His eyes dart from side to side and his hands are sweating. Down below, the two scientists heave a crate out of the van; its embossed with the trademark BL/ind smile on every side.

They get all the way across the patio and are about to descend the first step when one of the guards positioned at the curbs shouts, “You four! Halt!”

A shot ricochets off the concrete railing as Louis dives behind it. He immediately fires back as the other three drop and roll to join him.

“Too ambitious, maybe,” Liam says, his shoulder tucked up against Louis’.

“That van’s still our only way out.” He quickly scans the street, ducking back to avoid another shot. “They’re moving in. We gotta be fast.”

He and Liam both open fire at the guards running towards them in either direction. Across the courtyard Louis can see a squad of Dracs approaching from one of the surrounding streets. And another from the next street over. And the next. 

“Now would be a good time for a grenade!” he shouts.

Harry’s eyes immediately light up. He tosses his last grenade in the approximate direction of the sidewalk and the three of them drop back down as the ground shakes with the explosion.

Louis grabs Niall by the shoulders and the four of them pop back up, ray guns out. They barrel forward into the blue smoke; it’s so dense that the others disappear from view. He keeps a firm grip of Niall’s sleeve, pulling him down when someone fires in the smoke. He hears a few audible punches, then a shattering crash.

The smoke begins to clear, revealing four bodies scattered on the ground. Louis’ heart gives one powerfully irregular beat, but he then realises they’re the guards and scientists. Beside them is the crate tipped on its side, with broken vials of pills and liquids scattered all across the pavement.

Liam, already halfway into the van, shouts, “Get in!”

The smoke is almost gone and Louis can see the approaching Dracs in every direction. They fire, leaving scorch marks on the pavement and pivots in the van. Louis returns some fire while Harry pulls Niall up into the van, then climbs in backwards to redirect his aim as guards spill out of the building. Just as he reaches for the door, something hot sears through his shoulder and he falls back onto the hard floor of the van.

Harry pulls the door the rest of the way, shrouding them in darkness, then drops to the floor by Louis.

“All okay?” Liam says from the driver’s seat. The van rumbles to life beneath them.

Harry rips off his mask. “Go!”

“Everyone old on!”

The van lurches sideways and Louis scrambles to grab hold of anything to keep himself rolling across the floor of the van. His fingers lock around Niall’s ankle, who’s holding tight to his seat. He’s still wearing his mask, which makes Louis aware that he’s suffocating inside his own.

He pulls it off just as Harry tries to lift Louis under the arms, and he cries out in pain.

“I’ve just been shot there thanks!”

“I’m trying to get you into a seat!”

“Try to help me keep my arm while you’re at it!”

They fumble Louis up onto the seat beside Niall, then Harry dives into the passenger seat.

“Go, go!” he shouts, grinning widely as the van careens into oncoming ray gunfire. They swerve past the courtyard and into one of the side streets with a squad of Dracs.

“This is gonna get bumpy,” Liam warns. He hits the gas and they fly straight into the squad like a bowling ball. Louis jerks painfully with the impact, but its maybe worth it for the way two Dracs roll across the windshield.

“Any idea where you’re going, Throttle?” Louis asks.

“As far from HQ as we can get.”

“I’ll take it.”

They take another sharp turn and lurch violently to the right. The crates piled in the back of the van rattle precariously. Louis cries a mixture of pain and profanity as his shoulder bumps against Niall.

“Easy, Throttle!”

“Do you wanna protect your little shoulder or do you wanna live?”

Louis has a few more choice words ready, but Niall is turned towards him, finger searching for the hem of his mask. He removes it, hair in absolute disarray, and his eyes rove over Louis like he’s looking for something. They track the line of his arm, up to his shoulder. He reaches forward, slowly, and Louis’ instinct is to pull back and protect his shoulder, but he forces himself still. Niall touches one finger, then another, resting his hand over Louis’.

“Niall?”

“What’s going on?” Liam asks.

“Keep your eyes on the road.”

“I’m the one saving us right now!” Liam grumbles.

“So watch the—”

“We need to bind it,” Niall says suddenly. His voice is flat, a little vacant, but his eyes have a familiar focus to them. Louis’ adrenaline is in overtime, but the escape, the pain, it falls away to be replaced by the gentility of Niall gently peeling his fingers back. He pries the torn fabric wide enough for his eyes to search the seared skin underneath like it’s delicate wiring.

Liam takes another harsh corner and Niall’s hand falls away. Louis tries not to feel too disappointed, but Niall merely reaches down to tear a strip from the hem of his tee. He winds the fabric under Louis’ arm and around his bicep. He’s firm but gentle and his movements completely his own, an exact mirror to every other time he’s patched Louis up, even if his eyes are still somewhat distant. Louis grabs his seat to keep still as the van rocks under Liam’s hand.

Niall ties an untidy loop that feels secure around Louis’ arm, but doesn’t quite let go, like he’s not sure what to do with his task complete.

“Thanks, Shock,” Louis says softly.

Niall’s eyes flick up; it’s the first eye contact they’ve had since the Tube. He frowns, like he’s working through his words, relearning them.

“You’re—welcome.”

The moment is one worth dwelling on, but there’s no time. Harry winds down his window and hangs bodily out of the van, shooting back at the ray gunfire Louis can still hear against the back of the van. He laughs maniacally, waving Liam with the hand still inside to turn right, which he does. Harry slips out a few inches with the turn, then climbs back in, hair a wreck and eyes bright.

The world seems to go a little quieter. Louis peers through the heavily tinted back window, but the squad behind them in a few men down and falling away. Without warning, Niall plunges forward, hanging over the front seat.

Liam jerks in fright. “Feeling alright, Shock?”

Niall holds one hand out to Harry. “Can I have your ray gun?”

Harry hands it over wordlessly, then flinches dramatically when Niall slams the heel of the gun into the interface on the dash. It cracks, sparks, and goes dead.

Niall hands Harry his gun and settles back into his chair.

“This van do something to you?” Harry asks.

“Tracking system. Disabled it. Can’t track us.”

“You usually have a lighter touch.”

“Guess…” he glances at Louis, “took the Rogue way out.”

Niall’s mouth flickers, almost the hint of a smile, and it’s almost nothing but to Louis it’s like the life pours right into him.

“Sometimes it’s the more elegant solution,” he says around his smile. Niall holds his gaze.

The dashboard sparks once more; they all four flinch.

“Just uh, keep an eye on that, Throttle.”

“Think my eyes are well and truly occupied,” Liam says, taking them roughly around one more corner. At the far end of the road is the line of turnstiles.

“Not sure we’re gonna fit through there,” Harry says, but his jaw flickers with anticipation.

“Not sure we’ll need to,” Liam says, and hits the pedal harder.

The four of them hold their collective breath as Liam brings them closer, closer, right up to the edge of the city.

The armoured van crashes powerfully through the barricades, sending two turnstiles flying out onto the sand of Zone 1. Louis is almost thrown from his seat with only one good hand to hold him in place. The wheels catch in the soft ground, but push on, taking them out of Battery City and back into familiar ground.

Harry cries with success, one fist in the air, and Liam gives the dashboard an affectionate pat. Louis twists to look through the back windshield, but there’s nothing to see. He looks instead at Niall, who’s focused on the wide-open freedom ahead.

***

“Easy!”

“Stop being such a baby.”

“Go see to Liam would you, you’re just doing more damage here.”

Nick gives a record-breaking eyeroll and wheels over to Liam, who’s got his leg outstretched on the couch. Louis drops his head back in relief.

There’s a soft light filtering in around the edges of the boarded-up windows. The sun had just begun to break over the horizon when they reached Danger Zone 5, Dr Death’s shack sitting like an oasis in the hazy emptiness of the desert. The van’s wheels were struggling by then, built for solid asphalt and not hours of sand, but though it had been slow, they made it.

Nick had been slumped asleep in his chair under the tin awning, and if not for the burning pain in his shoulder, Louis would’ve thought it sweet. He’d spied an instant of relief on Nick’s face when he woke, spotting Niall among them, but it was quickly replaced by his far more recognisable scowl. Harry had begun the first few steps of a celebratory jig but been cut off by Liam almost falling face-first in the dirt. Patching up took priority after that, but Louis couldn’t take his eyes off Niall.

He’s leant against the opposite wall, vacantly watching Nick spray antiseptic over Liam’s wound. The room is quiet. Unusually so, post raid. There’s the soft static hum of Nicks radio, trying to catch any transmissions that indicate BL/ind is still on their trail. Nothing so far. Louis knows that may not last—BL/ind’s reach is wide and their fury at losing a battle will drive them further in the war. For now, he can’t bring himself to care. Not when Niall’s eyes wander over to him, and then his feet follow.

He looks pointedly at Louis as he approaches. An odd side effect of coming back into himself is the intensity with which he levels every gaze, and part of Louis squirms a little under his focus. Another part of him soaks it in.

The binding around Louis’ arm has loosened since Niall applied it. He’s winding the strip of fabric around his fingers now.

Niall feels at the rip in Louis’ sleeve. “Your shoulder.”

Louis, utterly disinterested in his injury, keeps his eyes on Niall. “Should get a rugged battle scar out of it.”

There’s a flicker of amusement across his face as he grabs for the antiseptic spray Nick has set aside. He unfastens the top button of Louis’ overshirt and Louis’ entire body quivers. He glances at the others, but they’re absorbed in Liam’s leg.

Niall senses his tension and draws back. “Just—so I can clean it.”

He’s so close, and especially when their eyes meet. Louis implores himself to relax, and nods. When he’s down to his undershirt, Niall carefully takes his shoulder. The first spray stings, the second one less so. Niall works with gentle fingers; Louis feels like one of his circuitry boards, treated with such careful precision.

“Are you,” Louis starts, unsure. He wants to ask how it felt, whether Niall was awake under the mask, whether he remembers anything. Remembers leaving. Whether it hurt. “Are you feeling okay? Like…”

“Myself?” Niall’s eyes jump up.

Louis nods gently.

“I’m…” He pauses, looking down. “I’m here… I’m here.”

He can see Niall’s mind turning, working through something he can’t put into words yet. Louis has so many words and they’re all crowding up under his tongue, fighting to take shape. He’s buzzing under his skin, which is mad after all they’ve been through. But it’s not the itch for conflict—its deeper, under his ribs, where he beats. It’s too tight in here, he needs air.

“Bit dark in here, you wanna…” Louis nods towards the door. Niall fumbles with the bandage in his hands, frowning. “So you can see better, yeah?”

“Oh. Um, yeah.”

“We’ll be outside, lads.”

“Oh, I bet you will.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

“Neon, leave the boys to their reunion.”

“I swear to the Phoenix Witch herself—”

Niall tugs on his arm, and Louis lets it go, leaving their hushed sniggers behind.

The sun is still low on the horizon, directly in Louis’ eyeline when they slip out. He sits back on the hood of the Cadillac and Niall slips the bandage under his arm to wrap his shoulder. His hands grow steadier with each passing moment, but even out here the buzz under Louis’ skin is getting stronger, more frantic.

“Thank you,” Niall says. “For finding me. For… I don’t know how you found me. Or—why you’d even—”

“We weren’t just gonna leave you.”

“But how’d you even… I was gone.”

“We didn’t know that,” Louis shakes his head.

“We’ve always left—”

“Well I couldn’t,” Louis snaps, and Niall’s hands still. “Sorry. I just mean, I couldn’t—Nick said there was a chance. He said once you’d talked about the chance that going under the mask didn’t mean… And I didn’t know if it would work, hell I didn’t even know if you’d still be  _you_. We didn’t wanna let them drain you of everything you are, just disappear into that city and become, just, a drone. It was—” he laughs, “a damn stupid thing to do. But if there was a chance, like even an ounce of a chance, I had to try.”

Now that they’re out here, just the two of them, Louis’ questions slip away, dissolved by the frenetic energy he can’t contain. He opens his mouth, hoping they’ll come back, but instead he says, “Watching you walk away with those Dracs was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Niall winds the bandage methodically, blinking very fast.

“I don’t care how stupid it was,” Louis goes on, because he can’t stop now. “I wasn’t gonna let you become one of them. You’re too good for them. You’re too…” He swallows. “You’re too good.”

Niall ties off the bandage in a knot and tucks the ends in, then twists his fingers together. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, then quite suddenly and without any warning leans in and presses his lips to Louis’.

It’s quick and dry and when Niall pulls back the buzz beneath his skin evaporates, and instead his top lip tingles gently. He brushes a hand over it.

Between one gulping breath and the next, Niall says, “You’re the thing I would be most sad to be taken away from.”

And although his mouth is drier than the zones, Louis answers, “You were the one thing I was most sad to lose.”

Niall doesn’t close his mouth completely, like he has so much more he wants to say, but still can’t quite get there. His eyes are more himself, but he looks like he’s still coming back together. “Thank you.”

Louis reaches forward, brushing a thumb over Niall’s knuckles. Perhaps if words won’t come easy, Louis can try another way. It’s not usually his way, but he’ll try, for Niall.

Niall’s hands unwind and he takes one of Louis’, and his mouth curls into a slow smile. He blends right in with the sun at his back, so bright in Louis’ eyes, and Louis pushes off the Cadillac and hesitantly wraps his free hand around the back of Niall’s neck. Niall bows forward so they’re temple to temple, then shifts to kiss him again.

It’s not until it happens that Louis realises this is what he’s been wanting. He smiles against Niall’s lips, even though that makes it messy and full of teeth. Niall doesn’t seem to mind, but rather seems eager to express everything he can’t say through this instead.

Louis isn’t sure how many minutes have passed when he hears the tin flap over the door scrape open. There in the doorway are three very smug faces; Harry gives him a thumbs up.

“Bastards,” Louis mutters beneath burning cheeks. Niall laughs into his ear.

“Now that you’re done,” Harry says, jogging over as Liam follows with a slower step.

“Did we look done?”

Harry ignores Louis in favour of pulling Niall into that hug he was deprived earlier. Niall also doesn’t seem quite ready to move on, but he beams inside the circle of Harry’s arms and hugs him back before Liam tugs on Harry’s shirt.

“I haven’t even gotten my first hug yet!”

Harry insists on keeping one arm around Niall while Liam gets his fill, laughing into Niall’s neck with joy. He pulls Louis in by the strap of his undershirt and crushes him into Niall’s back before wrapping his arms around them all.

“Killjoys!” Harry cheers, right in Louis’ ear.

“Killjoys!” Liam echoes, his face cracked with glee.

Niall shifts in the circle of their arms, turning to face Louis head on. He taps his knuckles against Louis’ heart, and Louis smiles, looks to the sky, and cries, "Killjoys never die!"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and if you enjoyed it please share the [post](https://dearmrsawyer.tumblr.com/post/185539399498)!
> 
> Thank you also to @missytearex for creating [this amazing moodboard](https://missytearex.tumblr.com/post/185539239878) for my fic.


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